These Days

A Very Merry Christmas

Sherlock was starting to wonder if John was even here when suddenly he was blinded by a fuzzy Santa hat. He turned and saw John, with his own hat, smiling up at him with love in his eyes.
"Well hello Mr. Holmes, funny to see you here." John said with a smile.
"Always funny to see you as well." Sherlock agreed.
"Even in my own house." John laughed.
"Especially then." Sherlock agreed. Of course no sign of personal affection could be shown there, even though they were probably standing over some sort of mistletoe. Too many people, too many eyes watching, ears listening...
"Mr. Holmes!" Hamish came flying out of nowhere, dressed like a little elf with a hot chocolate mustache. He hugged Sherlock around the legs, almost toppling him over.
"Whoa, Hamish, let him breathe." John laughed, prying his son off.
"Sorry." Hamish muttered, but not really looking sorry. Archie came running after him, dressed as Thor once again, even though it was a Christmas party.
"We should leave them alone, you know, to talk." Archie decided, looking between the two with a mischievous smile.
"How many times do I have to tell you rascals, I'm never marrying Mr. Watson." Sherlock insisted, ruffling both of their hair up to get his point across. He'd love to marry him, but there were a couple of things getting in the way of that.
"Okay, you go with that then." Archie said, forcing a nod and wading back into the crowd.
"He's a bit hard to take seriously with long golden hair." John decided with a small laugh.
"I suppose so, yes." Sherlock agreed.
"So, I suppose you don't know anyone yet." John decided. Sherlock scanned the crowd, seeing Greg wearing some sort of wreath crown over his hair.
"Well, I recognize that Greg fellow that you introduced me to way back when, and I saw Molly on the email list." Sherlock decided.
"Ya, she's yet to show up but she RSVP'd." John agreed.
"Brilliant, yet another person to yell at me for my life choices." Sherlock sighed.
"She's been bugging you about it?" John asked.
"She follows the same thought pattern as Archie." Sherlock shrugged.
"Wow, no one likes us." John laughed.
"Ask me if I care." Sherlock muttered.
"Do you care?" John asked.
"No I don't. And that wasn't a legitimate request." Sherlock added.
"I know, I just wanted to see if you'd go with it." John agreed.
"Hello John honey, who's this?" an old lady materialized from the crowd, with Christmas tree earrings and a rather large cup of egg nog.
"Oh, this is Sherlock Holmes, Hamish's teacher, Sherlock this is my mother." John said, sounding a bit unenthusiastic.
"Hello Mrs. Watson." Sherlock said with a smile, shaking her hand.
"I've heard a lot about you from Hamish, it seems like you've got a worshiper." She laughed.
"Good to hear it I guess. It's always nice to know I impact my students in a positive way, and they're not just throwing darts at my picture." Sherlock insisted.
"Oh I'm sure they don't, you seem like a very nice man." Mrs. Watson guessed.
"I like to think so, yes." Sherlock said with a modest little smile.
"He's the one that recommended Hamish to the gifted program." John pointed out.
"And that's worked out okay?" Mrs. Watson asked.
"Oh yes, Hamish is a very smart boy, you should be proud to have him as a grandson." Sherlock agreed. Maybe he was sugar coating it a little bit too much, but old ladies sort of eat that stuff up. Besides, she might come to know Sherlock as a little more than just Hamish's teacher.
"Oh that makes me sound old." She insisted with a joking smile.
"Certainly not my intention Mrs. Watson." Sherlock assured.
"Well I was just here to ask if that pretzel tray arrived yet, you know how I love the cinnamon dip." Mrs. Watson asked.
"You should ask Mary about that, I don't know much about what's going on really." John shrugged.
"Well, it was nice meeting you Mr. Holmes, I'm sure I'll see you around a little later." Mrs. Watson decided with a smile.
"Yes, I assume so." Sherlock agreed. She gave one last smile to her son before walking off into the crowd to talk to some other people.
"Oh she's a treat isn't she?" John muttered.
"She's not as bad as my mother. At least she never kicked you out of the house." Sherlock sighed.
"I don't even want to know half of your family drama." John decided.
"Well, there's none anymore." Sherlock shrugged. "Probably a good thing."
"Probably." John agreed. The party went on and on, most of it was talking to other people and the other half was standing awkwardly in the corner with John, talking in hushed voices and standing rather close. There was some man named David who had just gotten a vintage rifle from World War One, it was owned by some big general and still fired, so a huge group of people were admiring it. Sherlock took one glance and couldn't care less; it was just a rifle with a past. After a little while the food came out, and John, Sherlock, and the newly arrived Molly all sat on the couch in the living room while people sat around in the dining room. It was much too crowded for them.
"So, I must ask how you got an invitation to this party." Sherlock asked Molly, who was sitting a bit awkwardly next to him.
"I would ask the same to you." She pointed out.
"John and I are friends." Sherlock pointed out. Molly just raised her eyebrows in disbelief, but just sipped her drink and didn't say anything.
"Did you see that man's rifle?" Molly asked.
"Yes, very exciting." Sherlock muttered.
"He's a nut about that stuff; he'll go on for hours, just nod and walk away." John insisted.
"One of your friends I presume?" Molly guessed.
"One of Mary's." John muttered. "There are a lot of people here I can't stand, and David is definitely one of them."
"That's not very nice." Molly decided.
"Yes well, the world isn't always a Saint." Sherlock muttered with slight annoyance. He still wasn't forgiving her for confronting him about John and lecturing him about what and what not to do. Even though she was completely right it wasn't fair that everyone in his life seemed to be against the only thing that made him happy.
"So, I'm quite full, I think I'll go and chat a bit more." Molly decided, getting up with a nod of farewell and walking off to the dining room.
"I'm not all that hungry either." Sherlock decided, setting his unfinished plate onto the coffee table.
"Don't you go socializing." John warned.
"Never." Sherlock assured. He felt John's warm hand slip into his, interlocking their fingers and leaning onto his shoulder.
"I got you a present." John pointed out, his voice soft next to Sherlock's ear.
"I got you one as well; I got everyone a present actually." Sherlock agreed.
"That's very considerate." John decided.
"Well, I've never really been to a party like this, I didn't know what to do or what to get anyone." Sherlock muttered.
"You really didn't have to." John pointed out.
"Obviously I did." Sherlock laughed.
"Oh come on, follow me." John decided, getting up from the couch and leading Sherlock down the hall into some sort of office. It was a nice place, with a desk and a big computer, but what really caught Sherlock's attention was the little red bag with tissue paper neatly fluffed up.
"Let me get you yours, it's on the table out there..." Sherlock pointed out. John just shook his head, looking a little bit nervous for some reason, as if Sherlock's present was something he might not like. Honestly the only present Sherlock wanted was to be with John, nothing else really mattered and no little trinket could compare. He only hoped the tool belt was enough to match the gift he was about to receive. John closed the door, so at least they had a little bit of privacy, but it took a guest one wrong door to the bathroom to ruin their entire lives.
"Well, um, this gift is two parts really." John decided, walking up to Sherlock with a little nervous smile.
"Don't make me look too cheap Watson." Sherlock threatened. John shook his head, prying his wedding ring once more off of his finger, a regular thing nowadays.
"For one, I want you to have this." John decided, taking Sherlock's hand and placing the gold band in his palm.
"Won't Mary notice you're not wearing it?" Sherlock asked with worry, John's touch sending shivers down his spine.
"I hope she does really, because I want both of you to know that there's nothing between us. I made my choice that night, and I haven't looked back since." John insisted. Sherlock held the ring in thanks, not even knowing what to say.
"I haven't either." He agreed. John reached over for the bag, handing it to Sherlock and smiling once more, his beautiful hazel eyes sparkling with hope.
"Part two." he said, taking a deep breath as Sherlock carefully removed the tissue paper from the bag. Inside was a little box, surely it couldn't be... Probably some golden watch that would make that tool belt look like a hunk of hobo cloth. Sherlock set the bag on the counter and held the small box in his hand, no; it was too small for a watch. Sherlock opened the box and nearly dropped it, inside was a small, polished and new golden ring. The room was spinning and his heart was pounding as he watched John get down on one knee, almost as if he were watching from a third person point of view, the hope in John's eyes, the love in his expression.
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, will you marry me?" John asked, his voice shaking a little bit with anticipation. Sherlock felt his eyes tearing up, his voice shaking, his lungs rattling as he took in startled breaths.
"Yes." He breathed. There was a moment of silence and John let loose and nervous laugh, as if all of his problems in the world were solved. "Yes, oh my god, yes a thousand times...John!" Sherlock exclaimed. John got to his feet and cupped Sherlock's face, kissing him like the fiancés they now were. Sherlock couldn't believe it, he just couldn't believe that no matter what, all of this time and all of this worrying and all of this doubt, John was going to be his, and they were going to get married, and they were going to be happy for once in their miserable lives.               

                Hamish POV. Hamish walked through the crowd, itching at the pointed cloth ears that sat in his hair.
"Have you seen my daddy?" he asked Mrs. Hooper, who was sitting with a couple of other women he didn't recognize.
"No dear, sorry. Why don't you ask your mother, I'm sure she'll know." Molly said with a smile. Hamish sighed, also on the lookout for a rouge Thor, who had disappeared once more. Probably went back to Asgard, or simply was asleep on a chair again. Hamish was a bit humiliated to be wearing such a stupid costume, he had tried to tell his mom that he wanted to be Captain America, again, but even his dad wouldn't go for it. It was a holiday, and even if Archie was being Thor, that was his problem. Hamish wanted to ask his dad if they were allowed to open presents yet, he was usually the one who said when the right time was, but right now he seemed to be missing from the crowd. Maybe he had gone outside for some fresh air; daddy liked to do that when they had large parties. Mr. Holmes might know where he was as well; they seemed to always be together. But he had accepted the truth, as much as he'd love it; they were never going to actually get married. It was simply Archie making up stories that was all. Mary was over with David, who was still going on about the gun to anyone who would listen. Even his willing listeners had a glassy eyes stare though, as if they couldn't wait for this to be over.
"Mommy, have you seen daddy, I haven't seen him all night." Hamish whined.
"No dear, I was wondering that myself." Mary pointed out, looking around the crowd with a bit of a worried expression.
"I saw him with Mr. Holmes last, and now I can't find either." Hamish said with a frown.
"I saw them." piped in a woman with long black hair, Janine, one of Mary's friends.
"Where?" Hamish asked.
"Oh, the two of them went into the office together, I couldn't hear what they were saying though." Janine shrugged. Hamish looked up at his mother, expecting some sort of explanation, but she looked like the world had just opened up before her. She looked angry.
"Give me that." Mary growled, wrenching the gun out of David's hands and storming off down the hall with it.
"Mommy, where are you going?" Hamish asked, following close at her heels.
"Hamish don't follow me, I know what's going on here, I'm not an idiot." Mary growled, and with one kick she slammed open the office door. The hinges cracked and the door swung open, and inside Hamish couldn't explain what he saw. Daddy and Mr. Holmes scrambled away from each other, John was shirtless and Mr. Holmes' button down shirt was open. They looked panicked, and Mr. Holmes scrambled to the corner, as if expecting Mary not to see him.
"Merry Christmas A**hole." Mary growled, and a large blast came from the gun. Everything else seemed to be in slow motion, John collapsed on the spot and there was a terrible, heart wrenching shriek from the corner of the room where Mr. Holmes cowered. John's bare chest was bleeding profusely, right over his heart, and he didn't seem to be moving. David and many other guests ran to Mary's side, wrestling the gun from her and holding both of her arms behind her back. Hamish sort of expected Captain America or Thor to rush in, stop the bleeding and bring his dad back to life, but no one came, the house was filled with screams and rushing people, all trampling Hamish to try to get a good look at the action. Mr. Holmes had retreated all the way into the corner, sliding down the wall, his pale face streaked with tears and his expression beyond pain, as if he had been the one to get shot. Hamish pushed through the crowd, past his mother, who was now being restrained by many shocked hands, past his sobbing grandparents and into the room.
"Hamish, no..." his grandpa tried to grab him, but it was too late, and there seemed to be an invisible barrier preventing anyone from coming closer to the body that lay sprawled on the floor.
"Daddy?" Hamish asked in a small voice. The only sound was crying and screams, most of the sobbing was coming from the corner in which Mr. Holmes sat.
"Daddy, wake up." Hamish insisted. This was a prank, it had to be, just some Christmas miracle thing to show that no one could live without him. That red liquid now pooling underneath his father was only some sort of dye, that hole in his chest was painted on some way, and he was really good a keeping still. It was all a prank, because terrible things like this, it didn't happen in real life, only in movies and comic books. Hamish kneeled down over his father, poking him ever so slightly, but he didn't move, and his skin was ice cold.
"Daddy?" Hamish muttered.
"Hamish come here." Mr. Holmes muttered, now standing shakily on his feet.
"No, daddy, wake up what are you doing?" Hamish demanded.
"Hamish get away from him, please come here." Mr. Holmes insisted.
"DADDY!" Hamish cried. "HE'S DEAD!" Mr. Holmes came at him, holding Hamish by the shoulders and trying to steer him away, but Hamish fought him, kicked at his feet and clawed at his hands. Maybe his grief was making him strong, or just making Mr. Holmes weak, because Hamish struggled away and sank at his father's side, hugging his limp body and crying the way only a little boy could.
"YOU KILLED MY DADDY!" he shrieked, not to anyone in particular, to the world, to this cruel, realistic world. It had killed his father.