Sherlock X Reader One Shots || 𝐹𝐿𝑈𝐹𝐹 + 𝑆𝑀𝑈𝑇

A Holmes Family Reunion (Part 4)

Just as Sherlock wraps up his tour of the first floor, he and Y/N are summoned downstairs by Aunt Mildred---the family's foghorn---hollering for them up the stairs.

Everyone is crowded into or around the porch at the side of the house, perching on benches and leaning against walls so they can push their feet into the dozens of pairs of Wellington boots sprouting from the flagstone floor like muddy, rubbery fungi.

Mr Holmes has evidently parted with his ducks for long enough to join the family's walk because he's holding Mrs Holmes' arm as she dons her wellies.

They're sky blue and patterned with bumblebees.

His face brightens when he spots Sherlock approaching and pulls him in for a one-armed hug, still supporting his wife with his other. "Sherlock! My boy! How are you?" At one point his bright green eyes he must have been more or less level with Sherlock's own seafoam blue, but age has shrunk him, his full head of hair ---albeit, grey hair---just about brushing Sherlock's chin. "Sorry I couldn't meet you at the door; duck escaped again."

"It was eating my begonias " Mrs Holmes mutters under her breath.

Y/N notices that even though he's about to trek across the British countryside---below a green peacoat---Mr Holmes is wearing his trademark tatty brown waistcoat and a red bowtie.

Several white feathers protrude from the knit of his jacket and Y/N plucks them free, smiling and he turns to her, greeting her with a hearty kiss on the cheek. Although he's spent the day with water foul, he smells pleasantly of freshly cut grass. "How was the drive?"

"Oh yes, dear," Mrs Holmes cuts in worriedly, "did you remember the way?"

"Yes, Mum," Sherlock assures.

"And you have someone to look after your apartment while you're away?"

"We don't have anything that needs looking after."

"And they won't miss you at work? They know you're taking time off?"

"I work for myself so I don't know whom I would tell---" Sherlock has his boots on already, and holds Y/N steady as she dons her own (all the good benches and leaning walls already being taken).

Not owning a pair of rubber boots due to the fact she lives in the most pavement-rich city in England, Sherlock had taken Y/N to Mountain Warehouse and bought her a pair especially for the trip, insisting they would be essential. Like Prince Charming searching for Cinderella with a glass slipper, he had slipped them onto her feet one by one until she'd found a pair she liked; [colour] ones patterned with [up to you].

"And you ate some lunch, didn't you?"

"We stopped at a petrol station," Sherlock says truthfully; he had indeed enjoyed a bag of mini brownies and a toasted cheese sandwich.

Mrs Holmes seems to think that isn't nutritious enough because when they pass through the garden, she picks a handful of raspberries from her vegetable patch and ties them in a cotton hankie. "They're for the both of you, mind," she warns Sherlock with a stern look, pushing them into his hands.

Y/N catches him rolling his eyes but unwraps the little bundle happily all the same.

...

Finally assembled in the driveway like a group of university professors forced to partake in a team-building exercise, the Holmes family---and Y/N---begin their evening constitutional.

They start as one large group of wool coats, canes and Wellington boots, but soon have to narrow into pairs to filter through the little garden gate. Pressed into the hedge lining the front garden, it leads into the farmland surrounding the cottage and they set off down a well-trodden track.