A Sherlock Christmas

Part 5: Winter Wonderland

Sherlock realized that the third blizzard that week was soon arriving. He'd avoided the first two by seeking refuge quickly. So he walked across the street into a restaurant, his curls showered in snowflakes and cheeks pink as a doll.

Suddenly a hostess greeted him, "Good afternoon, sir." She looked on her tablet and wrote something down with a stylus. "For one?"

"I suppose," Sherlock said.

She hesitated. "Oh... okay. Let me show you to your table." The woman walked over to a little table in the corner by the window. "It's horrendous out there. I can't believe the weather!"

Sherlock didn't care for small talk and reached out his hand for the menu.

"Oh right!" The hostess laughed. "Your waiter should arrive shortly. Enjoy!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened up his menu to the soup section:

Soups (includes half a baguette)

Soup of the Day... 7
Chicken Noodle Soup... 8
Tomato Soup... 5
French Onion Soup... 8
Minestrone... 7

*Limited Time Winter Specials*

Pumpkin Soup... 5
Winter Vegetable Soup... 6
Butternut Squash Soup... 5
Russian Cabbage Soup... 6

Sherlock didn't have much of an appetite, but he was freezing from walking around for days in the brisk winter conditions. He decided that the tomato soup was his safest bet and he wouldn't even bother to look at the Winter Specials.

"I was a fool," Sherlock mumbled to himself. "I let my emotions rule my head. Mycroft was right all along..."

Sherlock sat with his tomato soup and looked out into the blizzard. And suddenly he remembered a moment with his father:

"Sherlock, we should head out," his father suggested. "Perhaps search for some groceries for lunch."

"No!" Sherlock spat back. "I would like to play with my toys, father. Ask Eurus!"

"Sherlock... it's Christmas tomorrow. Wouldn't you like to help out and maybe give your family a little early Christmas gift?"

"No, I hate Christmas." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I hate this holiday, it's so tedious. We all sit around and talk for hours about such irrelevant topics. I want my presents, that's the only reason I even tolerate Christmas."

"Don't say that, Sherlock." His father held up some ornaments that him and Sherlock had made years before. "Look at these! This is what Christmas is about! Family! Making memories, being together. You can always have objects Sherlock. But you won't always have us around. Sometimes the most real things in life are the things we can't see."

Sherlock remembered throwing a tantrum after that and breaking several of his father's decorations. He never went out to the store and Sherlock's father decided to never decorate for Christmas again. He didn't want to upset Sherlock and he just wanted to be with his family. It was the people that made Christmas, not the things.

Sherlock snapped out of his memory and came back to his snow covered city. He looked around and took another spoonful of soup. Then he started to weep. A deep seated, long withheld sob that erupted from his heart. And a few people took notice but Sherlock didn't care.

"He's gone," Sherlock admitted to himself, for the first time. "And now I've realized that my emotions weren't ruling my head... I never let myself accept it. I never let him go because I was so afraid of my emotions."

Sherlock felt a weight lifted. He looked around and he laughed, teardrop residue still glistening on his cheeks. He was going to be okay. But first he needed to make a stop.
___

"Sherlock!" Sherlock's mother exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to-" Sherlock took a deep breath. "To talk with you."

Sherlock and his mother discussed his father's death for the first time since it happened. Sherlock never even went to the funeral so the last time he saw his mother was last November.

"Sherlock, I'm so glad you're finally able to speak with me about his." Her cheeks also glistened with tears. "I was so worried about you. Mycroft, too."

"I know, he phoned me." Sherlock grinned.

"And he gave your friend a little visit."

"John?" Sherlock laughed. "He visited John?"

"Yes, I believe so."

Sherlock smirked in amusement. He imagined John's reaction when he saw that Mycroft had broken into the flat. Because of course, he would expect nothing less of Mycroft. And he smirked because he really did need Mycroft more than he thought.

"Oh! Speaking of which, Sherlock. I can't go to that Christmas event." his mother informed him as she heated up her kettle. "I've got a dancing competition with a few friends from work. Sorry!"

"Christmas event?" Sherlock narrowed his eyebrows.

"Yes, John sent an email invite to everyone." Sherlock's mom showed him her computer screen. "It's tomorrow."

"Oh." Sherlock said.