December 25th. Holmes' winter estate, Yorkshire. 15:00.
Sherlock sighed as his family and John gathered round in the sitting room, each of them grabbing their gift from under the tree. Mummy even remembered to get John something, and he held the lumpy package in his hands, VICTOR scrawled in perfect penmanship on top.
"You didn't have to get me anything." John said, looking touched. Sherlock didn't have the heart to tell him that she had technically gotten that for Victor and not him, but as he was pretending to be Victor, he received it instead.
"Oh, but I did." Violet said, smiling. "I wasn't sure what you wanted; you know how Sherlock is, likes to keep things mysterious. Go on, open it up!"
John grinned at Sherlock, causing his stomach to do a weird sort of flip, before tearing open the wrapping paper.
The most hideous jumper that Sherlock had ever seen tumbled out of the wrappings. It was a deep blue, with some terrible red and white pattern round the collar and sleeves that completed the terrible ensemble. He opened his mouth to complain to his mother when John spoke up.
"Thank you, Violet. It's perfect!"
Sherlock looked over at him in surprise, and he was shocked to find out that John was telling the truth. John grinned at the whole family before peeling off his borrowed jumper and putting on the brand new one. It looked good on him, though Sherlock probably wouldn't admit it out loud. The dark blue hues brought out the blue in his eyes.
Perhaps he didn't hate it as much as he originally thought.
"Oh, Victor!" Mummy sighed softly. "You look so handsome. Tell him that he looks handsome, Sherlock."
"You look very dashing." Sherlock replied, flushing. Clearly he was coming down with a fervour if his temperature kept fluctuation at such an alarming rate.
"Ta." John said with a grin, shooting a wink at Sherlock before sitting down. "Now I want to see what you got for Christmas. Come on, open up!"
Mycroft went next, unwrapping his gift with careless ease. His eyebrows raised as he took in the briefcase embossed with his initials.
"Thank you, mummy. Father." He said, and though he didn't show it, Sherlock could tell that he was quite please. Mummy could tell as well, and she beamed brightly at him.
They continued around the group, Father receiving warm woollen socks and Mummy being gifted a nice perfume set.
"Alright, Sherlock, you're next." Mummy said cheerily.
Sitting in front of him were two wrapped gifts instead of one. Sherlock frowned, picking up the smaller of the two and unwrapping it.
"Ties." He said, feeling confused. "But I don't wear ties."
"But you will." Mummy said. "Open your second gift."
With a sick feeling in his stomach, Sherlock unwrapped his second gift. He knew what it was, but he desperately hoped that he was wrong. He never was wrong.
It was a beautiful briefcase, identical in every way to Mycroft's, save for the initials. W.S.S.H. gleamed back at him almost mockingly, and he had to work to place a false smile on his face.
"It's for when you join Mycroft in the government." Father said cheerfully. "You two can match."
"But I don't want to work in the government." Sherlock reminded his parents. "I like my job as consulting detective."
"Oh, Sherlock." Mummy said, sounding disappointed. "Don't you think it's time to give up on that little flight of fancy? You've had your fun, but it's time to get a real job."
"It is a real job." Sherlock insisted, feeling humiliated.
"No, it isn't." Father sighed. "You need to grow up, Sherlock."
Sherlock ducked his head, face red in shame. The room is oppressively silent, and he just wants to go home and sleep for about a year.
"I think what Sherlock does is brilliant." John chimes in. "He saves people, he proves them innocent. I can't think of a nobler career than that."
The room is silent as Sherlock's family muses over John's words. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to look at John, worried that he would find pity in his eyes.
"I have a present for Sherlock, too." John's soft voice says at last, and Sherlock turns to blink at him in confusion. He looks upset, but not for himself. Though why John would be upset for Sherlock, he would never know.
"Oh, of course." Mummy says quickly, pleased that John broke the tension.
"Right," John stands, tugging at the hem of the new Christmas sweater. "Well, I had planned on doing this in private, but I think now is as good a time as any."
John turned towards Sherlock, and gave him a reassuring look.
"What are you doing J- Victor?" He hissed.
John, instead of answering, pulled a velvet box out of his jeans, kneeling in front of a now gaping Sherlock.
"Will you do me the great honour of becoming my husband?" John asked, opening the ring box to reveal a simple gold band.
Mummy's shriek of joy made the two of them jump. Sherlock looked over at her, startled to find that she had tears in her eyes.
"Say yes! Oh you have to say yes!" She sobbed in joy.
Sherlock turned back to John, his heart pounding erratically, and he could no longer ignore his symptoms.
He was in love with John Watson.
Oh, this was bad. This was very bad. Sentiment on its own was a destructive force, but to fall in love with someone who was so impossibly out of reach was a death sentence.
"I will, yes." Sherlock breathed, nodding viciously. "Yes."
"Oh, my baby is getting married!" Mummy cried as John slipped the band on Sherlock's finger. It fit rather well, considering it was a woman's wedding band. A bit snug, but not so obvious that it was meant for someone else.
"Welcome to the family, Victor." Father said with a firm pat to John's back.
"I'm sure Victor and Sherlock would like to be alone right now." Mycroft said helpfully, and Sherlock shot him a suspicious look. Mycroft never helped anyone out unless it suited him. "Oh come off it, Sherlock. My brother just got engaged, I don't think I need a reason to help you out."
"Oh, he's right." Mummy said. "You two go get cleaned up for dinner. We'll meet at, oh…seven?"
"Sounds perfect, dear." Father said, pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"Yes, perfect." Sherlock said, grabbing John's hand and pulling him from the room before they could be stopped.
They made it to their room without further incident. Sherlock shut the door, leaning against the wood for support.
"Thank you." He said after a moment. "You didn't have to do all that."
"No, I suppose I didn't." John mused. "But I wanted to."
"Why?" Sherlock couldn't keep himself from asking.
"Because they were being rude to you." John sighed. "And you deserve better than that."
"I'm sorry." Sherlock said. "You were going to purpose this weekend, weren't you?"
He held up his left hand as he straightened, the gold band glinting.
John was silent for a moment, staring at the ring on Sherlock's hand in contemplation.
"Yes." He admitted, sounding almost guilty. "Not with that ring, obviously. That's the wedding band, not the engagement ring, but I was going to propose, yes."
Sherlock nodded, trying to squash the horrible feeling of his heart being crushed. John was never his, and he had been foolish to allow himself to entertain the possibility that he could be.
"I am sorry." Sherlock repeated. "You should be with her right now."
"Don't." John said, commanding his attention with just the one word. "I meant what I said before. This has been the best Christmas I have ever had."
Sherlock gave John a weak smile, nodding his head towards the bathroom door.
"I showered earlier today. I know that you've been dying to get a shower in."
"Ta. Yeah, I have. I'll be out quick, I promise." John said, entering the bathroom and shutting the door with a soft snick.
Sherlock huffed out a breath, moving across the room and pulling out his violin, tuning it quickly before tossing it on his bed. Playing wouldn't do him any good now.
The shower turned on, and Sherlock let out a small groan, flopping on the bed next to his violin. It was going to be a long night.
December 25th. Hosier Lane, London. 15:30.
Molly had been having a nice dinner with Tom when the police arrived at her door. Tom was, of course, very confused. Not that Molly wasn't, of course, but when they mentioned Sherlock's name, she could hardly bothered to be surprised.
"Oh, he's up in Yorkshire with his family." She said to Sargent Donovan, who was exceptionally nice. The blonde lady in the red coat was a bit rude, but Molly could hardly blame her; she had lost her fiancé, after all.
"Yorkshire." Detective Inspector Lestrade repeated thoughtfully.
"Yes. I have Sherlock's number, but he told me that I shouldn't bother to text. They hide their phones, you see. To become closer as a family, I think." Molly continued.
"Do you know if he had anyone with him?" Donovan asked.
"No. He was going to bring his arse of a boyfriend- oh gosh, I'm so sorry!" Molly covered her mouth, embarrassed that she had said a swear word in front of the police. "Anyway, Victor broke up with Sherlock that very afternoon, so he went by himself."
"We don't think that's what happened." Lestrade said. He dug into his pocket, pulling out a photograph of a man who appeared to be thirty or so. "Do you recognise this man?"
"He was in Higbies two days ago." Molly said, nodding. "He came up to place an order, and we were all out of regular old coffee so Sherlock- oh. Oh no."
"He kidnapped my John." The blonde lady shrieked, making Molly jump. "He kidnapped him right out of the blue, and you let him!"
"Well, I didn't know. Sherlock has never kidnapped anyone before…" Molly said, and Tom put a comforting arm around her.
"It's not your fault." Donovan said soothingly. "You've been very helpful. Now, can you tell me where Mr Holmes took Mr Watson?"
"I have the address." Molly said, standing up and grabbing her copy of Pride & Prejudice, which she had been re-reading, and pulled out her makeshift bookmark that had the address to the Holmes' winter estate scrawled messily across the front in blue pen. "Here you are."
"Thank you, Ms Hooper." Lestrade said, grabbing the piece of paper. "You have been a huge help."
"Is Sherlock in a lot of trouble?" Molly asked softly.
"Yes, he is." Donovan answered bluntly. "We'll get out of your hair now. Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas." Molly said, letting the police and the blonde lady out of her flat before turning back to Tom, feeling miserable.
"You did the right thing, love." Tom said, going to hug her.
"I know, but why does it feel so wrong?" She whispered, burying her face in his chest.