Hello, everybody; ModernDayBard here! This time around, we're focusing on some other members of the Bakers Street Family. I don't think there's anything more that needs be said, so let us simply jump right in!

Anyhow, let the Christmas season continue! (We own neither show nor songs).

"Are you sure about this?"

Mary Watson did her best to suppress an amused smile—two blocks. That was as far as they'd gotten form 221 Bakers Street before John was having (or at least, voicing) second thoughts. "Having an evening to ourselves for the first time in months? Yes." She couldn't resist teasing him a little, and from the unamused half-glare she got in response, John knew it, too.

"Michael. With Sherlock. For a whole evening. Without Mrs. Hudson." They were statements, but his earl question firmly lodged behind each one.

It was an interesting thought, but they'd been left with little choice after their regular sitter fell through. Besides… "Jenny will be there, though."

John glanced and the blonde beside him, wavering but still unconvinced. "She doesn't have younger siblings, or kids, or much experience with children…"

"That's not strictly true—she did an entire run of Matilda with a large ensemble of child actors. And she learns quickly." Truth be told, it was the latter more than the former that had earned Mary's confidence. Besides, it was just for one evening…

Parenting is certainly many things, and it teaches or improves many valuable skills—multitasking, for one. For instance, John and Mary were not only using the evening to themselves to enjoy a rare date night, but also to accomplish most of their Christmas shopping without prying eyes or a toddler underfoot.

At the top of the list (and, at the moment, easiest to please), was Michael himself. As they pursued the store, John noticed his wife's smile fading into the pensive expression he'd dubbed her 'worry face'—one he hadn't seen often before Michael was born.

Backtracking, he put his hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Ah, just the usual—lingering self-doubt surrounding whether I actually know what I'm doing." Mary was trying to sound light-hearted, making a joke, but he knew about her fears that she was an incapable or insufficient parent—he shared them, too. So did every parent, he supposed: no one was really prepared for the responsibility of another human being depending on them for everything.

"We're doing alright so far, and it's not like we have to do this on our own—Mrs. Hudson alone has demanded at least one chance to babysit a month, my parents and Harry are already spoiling him rotten, and even Jenny and Sherlock are willing to help when we need it. Sherlock, Mary."

The blonde woman couldn't full suppress a smile at the turnaround from her husband worrying about entrusting their two-year-old to his old flat mate for the evening to using it as a reassuring example. "He's not going to be afraid of much growing up, is he?"

"Probably not."

…I pray you'll be our eyes,

And watch us where we go;

And help us to be wise,

In time when we don't know…

After shopping for their family members, the Watsons turned their attention to their list of friends they still had to shop for. The list divided by which was more familiar with an individual's tastes and preferences, they made their way through the store—but never did end up splitting up, as had been the implied plan.

John was nearly at the end of his list when Mary spoke up in a light but curious voice. "Is Jenny seeing anybody?"

"What? I don't know—how would I know?" John stammered, this sort of conversation not falling in his comfort zone.

Mary shrugged, still scanning her list. "If she was, Sherlock would've noticed, might've pointed out like you know he would. I figured there was a possibility you'd have overheard if that happened."

"No, I haven't." Mary hummed in a way that said she had been a passingly curious and, for her, the conversation could be over, but she'd gotten John thinking. "Did you think she was?"

"Not really; I just thought she'd been here long enough to find someone, or strike up something with someone in her company. Come to think of it, she didn't mention anything like that when we were talking Christmas plans last week—just that her parents were coming. Shame, though; you'd think a nice girl like that…"

John shook his head, partly amused, and partly in trepidation. "Mary, you're not about to try to play matchmaker, are you?"

"No, I wouldn't do anything like that," Mary assured him, then, added under her breath: "unless she asked."

…We ask that life be kind,

And watch us from above.

We hope each soul will find,

Another soul to love…

Of course, shopping trip aside, this was also a date night, and eventually the Watsons found themselves seated at a table in a semi-crowded restaurant, perusing menus.

Of course, John wasn't really concentrating on his. He'd glanced up, intending to ask Mary what she was in the mood for that night, and saw that she was focused intently on reading it. Something about the picture reminded him of his first proposal attempt, or even of their first date, and he found himself caught up in a barrage of memories.

They were good ones, mostly. Or rather, they were good ones, now. When he'd first met Mary, he'd still been trying to cope with life after Sherlock's supposed death—a little lost and drifting, he could now honestly admit. And even since then, things hadn't always been exactly ideal for the couple: their wedding day was nearly a murder, and then the tense, silent, fuming months when Mary's deception was revealed. But ultimately, John had come then to the realization that was hitting him now—as it did from time to time—Mary had helped him through some of his darkest moments and there was no one else he'd rather spend the rest of his life with.

When Mary glanced up, she found John seemingly still scanning the menu, but the little smile on his face told her that he was seeing something other than ten types of salad and seven ways of preparing seafood.

Need to find a place—

Guide us with your grace;

Give us faith so we'll be safe…

By the time the Watsons made it back to 221B to pick up Michael, the toddler was completely passed out. As Mary picked the sleeping child up, John found himself scanning the apartment, but was unable to determine if the chaos around him was caused by his son, or was just the normal disorder that Sherlock lived in.

Mary glanced over at Jenny, who'd stationed herself near enough to the spare bedroom to hear if the child woke while looking at something on her computer (notes from a rehearsal, perhaps?). "How was he?"

Jenny laughed with the rueful smile that indicates the tacit agreement between parent and babysitter—if details aren't given, don't press; it all turned out fine in the end—before darting an amused glance at Sherlock, who sat at his desk, expression unreadable in the dim lighting.

"Oh, he was a little angel."

So, yeah. Not really Christmas-y, per se, except in setting and activity, and even the song's a bit of a stretch, but it's one of my favorites, and I wanted a chapter where John and Mary got to have some time together. Ad for those of you wondering what Michael got up to with Jenn and Sherlock, fear not and stay tuned!

As always, if you saw something you liked, or somethin you think I can fix/improve on for next time, feel free to leave a review and let me know!

Song: The Prayer

Recommended Version: Peter Hollens ft. Evynne Hollens