The Good, The Bad and The Woman

Unlocked

14. Unlocked

Without the pressure of Moran's impending terrorist plan looming on the horizon, time passed surprisingly swift and Christmas tide was soon upon London. A thin layer of whitest snow covered the major city like a blanket even as the days grew shorter and shorter. In an uncommon turn of events, Sherlock once more invited John, Mary and Elizabeth to join the Holmes' family for a quiet celebration in the countryside.

John had to admit, he had his suspicions about the whole ordeal. He couldn't quite shake the memories of last Christmas and the act of murder Sherlock had committed to save his friend and Mary. Still, with Moran terminated there existed no actual threat and John's mind was trying to persuade his body to relax. This was just like any other Christmas, after all, – or as normal as any holiday in the Holmes' family home could ever be. Still, that the great detective had a hidden agenda went without saying. He just wasn't sure what yet.

Presently, the blond man was seated in an armchair in the small, homily kitchen, watching Mrs Holmes chide her sons for being in touch too little yet another year. As the elderly lady pinched Mycroft's cheek as if he was an actual kid, John had to hide his laugh behind a fake cough.

The detective used the window of opportunity to move away in a fluid motion and came to stand at other end of the table, where he was safe out of reach. He looked down at the crowded tabletop, filled with all the holiday foods and sweets he'd grown up with. At length, he looked up and innocently inquired, "No punch?"

His father came up beside him and threw him an amused glance. Dryly, the old man said, "Not this year, Sherlock."

"Why do you I have a feeling last Christmas still wasn't the weirdest experienced in the Holmes' residence?" John asked as he rose from his seat to join the men.

The eldest Holmes patted the younger man's back and knowingly smiled. "Far from it."

"...I thought this wasn't an annual thing, though?"

"It's not. It was Sherlock's idea this year, too."

John leaned close and mock-whispered under his breath, "… And you thought that was safe considering last year?"

"Not at all. But he's my son."

"Ah…" Watson nodded slowly and watched the old man walk over to help his wife with the last Christmas decorations - bright lights wrapped around some green foliage - at the other end of the room. "Does anyone have the time?"

Mycroft glanced down at his wrist watch and despairingly sighed like a petulant infant. "Dear God... it's barely three o'clock."

The doctor glanced up at his best friend and said in a low voice, "You wouldn't happen to know why my wife and daughter are running late, do you? Mary wouldn't say why, other than that she was doing you a favour."

"Mm, yes," Sherlock hummed and his eyes flickered across the mince pies before him, as if trying to downplay the whole thing to oblivion. "She's bringing another guest."

John frowned and shifted on his feet. "… Who? Oh! Irene?"

The detective inclined his head as he grabbed a cup of eggnog and slowly sipped it as he casually stepped around his friend and over to the window, where he took solitary watch gazing out at the green and white view.

The thoughts ran wild in the blond man's head as he processed the new information. He knew the ex-couple had barely spoken since they had found Moran's dead body. Heck, he thought they'd all but lost contact out of sheer cowardice after their break-up. Either way, he wasn't going to let the truth slide. He joined the man by the windows and cleared his throat as he gazed outside, "Does this mean you're back together…?"