Happy Easter to those of you celebrating today :)
Spearing his peas angrily with his fork, lips pursed in a grumpy pout, eight-year-old Sherlock was doing a fine job of demonstrating his displeasure with his family. He swung his legs irritably, thumping his heels against the crossbar, satisfied that the noise was interrupting his mother's peaceful dinner.
Mummy Holmes sniffed disdainfully. "Sherlock, darling, you know it's nothing more than a pagan festival co-opted and dressed up by the Christians. There's no point in you going. Sunday night is for dinner with the family, not for gallivanting down into the... more unseemly areas of London."
Sherlock glowered across the dinner table as Mycroft smiled smugly around a mouthful of roast beef. John had invited him to his family's Easter dinner and he so very much wanted to go. What was so unreasonable about that?
Later, sulking in his bedroom, he heard the familiar noises of his best friend shinnying up the drainpipe, effectively ruining his good dress clothes. John knocked on the window, grinning cheerfully. Sherlock felt the familiar warmth John always brought with him spreading through his chest and smiled back, despite his former grumpiness.
"Your mum wouldn't let you come to Easter, so I brought a bit of Easter to you." He rummaged around in his rucksack for a moment before extricating a slightly melted, somewhat broken chocolate bunny.