Christmas. How was it Christmas already? Sherlock tried to figure that out as he sat in his parent's parlor, watching Alex beneath the tree ripping open presents, oohing and aahing over his newest toys.
"I wish you'd bring him by more often," his mother said. "He's such a darling thing."
Sherlock shrugged and refused to answer. Mycroft rolled his eyes.
"I do wish both of you had had your own, of course," she said, turning to shoot a look at the both of them.
"Mummy, why don't you open the gift from Sherlock and me," Mycroft said with a grimace.
She smiled and accepted the offered package, which both Holmes boys were pleased to see shut her up on the issue. Alex sat back and smiled as he watched her unwrap her presents. She cooed over the new sweater and squealed upon revealing the Caribbean cruise her sons had booked her.
"Oh come here you two," she said, motioning to the brothers.
Neither budged.
"Just enjoy mummy, no need for a hug," Sherlock said.
"I'll hug you," Alex offered, coming over to wrap his arms around her.
"Oh such a dear," she said with a smile. "Not like those two rascal boys of mine. I'm so glad you could come for Christmas this year. Why…this was how I first met you all those years ago, that year Mary and John came with you," she said with a smile, turning to look at Sherlock. "Wish they could have visited more."
Alex beamed at her, pleased to have her attention.
"Who's next for gifts?" the Holmes father asked. "Alex, you ready for another one?"
"Mycroft!" Alex said.
"Someone's looking out for you," the man said with a chuckle, eyeing his elder son.
Mycroft sniffed, but did accept the poorly wrapped package, not having to look too hard to see it was from Alex.
"Why are we even doing this? This is two years now of doing Christmas," Mycroft muttered as he reached to the end of the package to begin carefully undoing the tape, making sure to not rip the paper as he opened it.
"Because, Alex deserves a proper Christmas, and we both know your brother's not going to give him that," their mother scolded.
"It's alright with me," Alex piped up. "We don't have to do this just for me. I know Sherlock and Mycroft both hate it."
"Oh shush you, you're my excuse right now," she said with a smile. "I need something to get the boys round again. Now, Mycroft, show us what Alex gave you."
Mycroft arched a brow as he studied the contents of a small box. He gave a wry smile and lifted a small ornament, clearly homemade. He held it up for all too see, revealing a small black umbrella.
"You always look so cool with your umbrella," Alex explained. "And Sherlock said you hate Christmas—so since I was making ornaments anyways I figured I'd try to make it not Christmasy. But I thought you could just hang it somewhere or you could give it to your mum and dad to put on their tree so they can remember you even if you're not here for Christmas. Or you can just throw it away. That's ok too."
"Thank you, Alexander," Mycroft muttered, sticking the ornament back in its box and putting it on the coffee table.
"You're welcome. Sherlock next!"
Alex grabbed another poorly wrapped package and crawled over to place it in Sherlock's hands. The detective sighed and looked down at the label reading To: Sherlock Love: Alex. He ripped the paper off without a second thought, opening up a box and staring down at ten glass ornaments.
"These are…um…nice…"
"Look at them, silly!" Alex said with a laugh.
Sherlock pulled out one to find Alex had painted "World's Best (And Only) Consulting Detective." Another had a microscope on it. A deerstalker hat. The word "Murder" in red looking a lot like splattered blood. A brain. A smiley face like the one on their wall. A book. A teacup. 221B. And one with two tiny figures, one with yellow hair significantly smaller than the other, the taller with darker hair and a long coat and blue scarf.
His throat suddenly felt a little tight for some reason. He cleared it and nodded, setting the ornaments back in place.
"Oh aren't those lovely!" his mother cooed. "Oh what wonderful work, Alex. You made these yourself?"
"Yep! Well, I had some help from my teacher, but she encouraged us all to make some the other day. And I sort of went a bit crazy, but she said it was alright. I figured this way we'd have something new to decorate 221B with next Christmas besides just the few light strings Mrs. Hudson keeps tucked away."
"What a lovely idea, dear. Now, I'm going to go check on the things in the oven, but you all continue opening gifts without me."
She hustled off to the kitchen. All the Holmes men sat silent, not sure what to do without her presence there.
"Thank you for your gift, Alex," Sherlock decided to say, setting the box aside.
"You're welcome," Alex responded, settling back and waiting for someone to decide who should have the next gift.
The Holmes mother called from the kitchen asking her husband for help. He wandered off leaving the two brothers and Alex.
"I have a present for you actually," Mycroft muttered, pulling a small parcel out and tossing it over. Sherlock caught it and stared down at the box.
"Oh go on, open it Sherlock!" Alex said, getting up to come climb into Sherlock's arms. "I'll help!"
The boy plucked the present from his hands and tore off the paper. Sherlock took the box back and carefully pried it apart to reveal a small selection of folded papers. Scanning them he realized what they were.
"Legal guardianship," Mycroft said. "All finalized up for you there. I know it's taken a while, but people did want to be certain."
"Oh don't be absurd, you wanted to be certain," Sherlock muttered. "I know you prolonged it"
"I had to be," Mycroft sniffed. "Now, there will be one last check in after New Year's Day, but I thought you might want to get a head start on paperwork. And once done with that, Alex will be yours—so long as you don't mess things up."
"I'm really yours now!" Alex gasped.
"You were always mine, brat," Sherlock said with a smile. "This just makes it official. All those silly rule things grownups like so well. Or at least after these are filled out and filed and all that legal nonsense."
Alex grinned and wrapped his arms tight for a quick hug. Sherlock didn't resist and pulled the boy a bit closer, enjoying the simple affection.
"Thank you, Mycroft," Sherlock managed to say.
"Anything for you, brother dear," Mycroft said with a sigh. "Now, I'm going to go see if mummy needs any help. I'm not sure how much more sappiness I can take."
He rose and strolled off towards the kitchen. Alex slid off Sherlock to take Mycroft's abandoned place on the couch.
"Thanks for a great Christmas, Sherlock," Alex whispered next to him.
Sherlock turned to stare quizzically at the boy. Then again, he didn't really know what amounted to a great Christmas considering he didn't like the holiday at all. He just smiled after a moment and took to staring at the fireplace. His own gift to Alex had been a junior chemistry set. He'd wanted to get an adult one, but Molly had insisted that wasn't a great idea.
The day dragged on. Mycroft kept complaining throughout, asking why they had to draw out the meal, why couldn't they just be done with it after gifts. But Mrs. Holmes insisted on sitting them all down to a proper dinner, eating together and then having some drinks in the parlor afterwards while Alex played with his new things. It was late that afternoon that Sherlock had the call.
He checked his phone to see it was Lestrade. He answered immediately, stepping into the other room for minimal privacy.
"What is it?" he asked. "Aren't you supposed to be off celebrating?"
"I think you'll want to check the news," Lestrade suggested. "Yeah, a very merry Christmas this one is."
"Whatever for?" But Sherlock obeyed and went back to turn on the television, ignoring his mother's protests as he flipped to a news channel displaying the flaming wreckage of a building. "London school burned to the ground- arson a probably cause."
"It's got to be him, Sherlock," Lestrade muttered.
"Considering that's Alex's old school before he moved in with me, I would assume so," Sherlock said, studying the images for any clues, but it was too far away to get anything. "His love for burning continues to come to the forefront of his crimes."
"Well, I'll have a unit take a look at it once we're told it's safe. And if you have a chance in the next few days—might not be bad to have you sweep it for clues either."
"I certainly will," Sherlock agreed. "Merry Christmas, Lestrade. Stay safe."
"Definitely," Lestrade said with a sigh before hanging up.
Sherlock paused as he put the phone aside. He had grabbed the phone Moriarty had left him. He had rare texts on that. The occasional flirtatious creepiness that made Moriarty stand out from other criminals. A few taunts. A few puzzles that had mostly proved themselves pointless. Nonetheless, he fished it out of his pocket. Sure enough, two texts awaited him.
Not exactly chestnuts roasting, but I thought this was more your style. Liked my present?
Sherlock frowned and checked the next.
Also, enjoy your silent night. Hope little Alex likes his present too. ;)
The detective jerked up to look around the room.
"Where's Alex?" Sherlock demanded.
"He was playing by the tree, dear," his mother said. "What's wrong?"
Sherlock glanced at Mycroft whose eyes had narrowed.
"Moriarty," he muttered, before moving over towards the tree. Alex was indeed playing to the side of it, or had been. Now he was lying still to the side, No sign of movement from him.
"Alex," Sherlock said. He moved to kneel by his ward, breathing become hard as he felt some level of panic begin to take him. Normally calmness came so naturally to him, but Alex brought this upon him, these levels of concern.
He rolled Alex over to find his eyes closed, body unnaturally limp. Sherlock's fingers moved to feel for a pulse. A sigh escaped as he found one, steady and regular. Mycroft had returned with Alex's glass from earlier. He sniffed at it and dipped a finger into the juice, pulling it back up to take a small taste, grimacing afterwards.
"Mild incapacitating agent," he muttered. "I would say nothing too harmful. Hard to taste or smell unless you're looking for it, but it's not poison."
"The wine? Any of the other drinks?"
His mother checked those, agreeing they all seemed to be fine. When she found the carton of juice she had to agree that the whole thing had been spiked.
Another text. Sherlock looked at his phone.
Give sleeping beauty a kiss for me, will you?
"He targeted Alex," Sherlock whispered. "Just him."
"To get to you," Mycroft reminded him. "That's the whole point, Sherlock, and you're letting him."
"So what do I do?" Sherlock snapped at his brother. "Ignore that Moriarty just attacked Alex under my nose? Ignore the fact that he could have been harmed?"
"You know, I seem to remember someone drugging all of us one Christmas, Alex included," Mycroft pointed out with a scowl. "Or have you forgotten you also gave Mary something in her tea while Alex was still in the womb."
"That was different," Sherlock snapped.
"How? This is a game for him, Sherlock, no different from the little dance you had with Magnusson drugging us to rush off with my laptop. You need to look at this with perspective, not jump into an overemotional reaction. Alex will be fine."
"What if he'd poisoned him?" Sherlock asked.
"Moriarty has had every opportunity to kill him and hasn't," Mycroft pointed out. "If he were to do so he wouldn't choose a quick slip of poison into his juice. No, better to find a way to watch both you and him suffer. He's trying to play with your mind, and it is working. Be smarter than that, Sherlock. Don't give him the pleasure."
Sherlock finally nodded. Perhaps Mycroft did have a point. With everything that had happened it was easy for him to stop thinking rationally, but he had to. That was always what he'd prided himself on, and now was not the time to stop acting that way. Now more than ever he had to keep a level head. He had to stay strong for Alex, for himself, in order to beat Moriarty he couldn't think like this.
Sherlock scooped Alex's limp form up.
"I'm taking him to the bedroom to lie down for a while. I'll take him home when he's awake again," he told his parents.
"Certainly dear," his mother said. "Don't you worry, we'll take good care of him. If you need to run off before he wakes up we'll look after him."
"No," Sherlock said. He looked down at the blank papers Mycroft had given him. "It's my job now. Now more than ever, I need to be here for him."
A/N: Thanks to Icecat62 and Denethorian again (Denethorian your reviews never fail to make me laugh, by the way).