Chapter Text
A couple down the street were having a row, and John was having trouble focusing on typing up his blog. Because it was distracting, not because he was a terrible busybody who wanted to know the drama going on.
“Every fucking time!” the woman screamed. “Every fucking time I look at your phone-”
“Why are you going through my phone?!” her boyfriend screamed back.
“What are you doing?”
John jumped, almost falling out of the chair. He hadn’t realised he was leaning so far towards the window trying to get a glance at the screaming couple.
“Jesus, Imogen!” He put a hand on his chest. “You scared the hell out of me. What are you doing home?”
“It’s a half day.” She said, putting her backpack on one of the chairs. “What are you doing?”
“I was just… writing.”
Imogen looked at him, a smile slowly creeping her way across her face.
“Shut up,” John said, reaching over and tickling her side. She squeaked and jumped away, before coming back and resting her arms on the table next to him.
“What are you writing?”
“A blog.”
“Why?”
“My therapist thought writing about what happened to me would be a good idea.”
“Oh. What do you write about?”
“Your dad. The cases we solve.” He corrected quickly.
“Really?” She perked up, leaning against him to look at the screen. “Do you write about me?”
“Uh, no,”
“Why not?” She asked, hurt and offended. “I helped solve the zombie thing.”
“Because you’re a child, and it’s a safety precaution. Strangers read this, your dad doesn’t want you mentioned.”
“So what did you say happened on the zombie case?”
“I haven’t written it up yet. Guess I’ll just make something up.”
“Rude. Is that all you do, just make stuff up? To make yourself seem more clever?”
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Donovan,”
“Slander!” Imogen punched him in the arm and ran out of the room.
“OI!” he called after her, laughing and shaking his head. He rubbed his arm; she was surprisingly strong for a seven-year-old.
“Behave children.” Sherlock said, coming into the house with a Speedy’s bag. “Lunch.”
“She started it.” John deadpanned, going back to his typing.
Imogen came rushing out of her room, jumping to a stop behind Sherlock and smacking him on the hip.
“Hey!”
“How come John’s not allowed to write about me?”
“Because what we do is potentially dangerous and the less people who know about you the better- and what did I tell you about hitting people?”
“It’s only funny when I do it to John.”
John’s head snapped up, looking between Imogen and Sherlock, who was giving his daughter a Look.
“To not do it.” Imogen amended.
Sherlock tossed a sandwich to her. “Eat.”
“Why did we think this was a good idea?” John muttered to himself. “Shouldn’t have left it so late.”
“The whole thing is pointless.” Sherlock rolled his eyes, pulling on his suit jacket. “Christmas is a commercialised holiday based on an ancient fairytale used to sell products to the masses.”
“Yeah but you get the day off.” John said, just to poke at him.
“I don’t want the day off, I want a new case.”
“Well right now I want to get this Christmas shopping over with– would you get Imogen, please?”
Sherlock went down the hall and knocked on Imogen’s open door. She was sitting on the bench at the end of her bed, putting on her shoes.
“Ready to go?” He asked.
“Almost.” She grabbed her purse, then opened the bench and pulled out her small cashbox, opening it with a little silver key. Sherlock rolled his eyes when he saw how much money was in there.
“I really must have a word with your uncle.”
“Noooo,” Imogen whined, refilling her purse.
“At the very least we’re having a discussion on being responsible with money.”
“But it’s christmas,” she pouted.
“Really I hadn’t notice. Come along, let’s get this over with.”
Imogen huffed. She closed the cashbox and the bench.
“Are you going to get a picture with Santa?” John asked while they ate lunch in the food court.
Imogen made a face. “Santa’s not real.”
“That guy in the inflatable shark costume wasn’t a shark you still wanted a picture with him.”
“I still need to get a couple more things.” She changed the subject. Imogen liked Christmas, but only babies believed in Santa. She was too grown up for that.
“This is pointless.” Dad said, his head resting on Imogen’s bag on the table. He was being dramatic, so they were mostly ignoring him.
“We’re doing something nice.” Imogen said firmly. Or as firmly as someone under four feet tall can be. “And since you don’t wanna do it I will. Even though you’re the grownup.”
“Debatable,” John said, wiping his hands on a napkin.
“How much more do you need to buy?” dad asked, sitting up.
Imogen checked her list. “Mrs Hudson, Molly, and nana and granddad.”
“You do know you don’t need to get gifts for every single person in London, yes?”
“Nan and granddad live in Sussex. Oh, and Ashraf,”
Dad rolled his eyes and dropped his head back on the table.
John was actually quite good at wrapping presents. Imogen was not, but she had the christmas spirit.
“When do you leave for your grandparents?” John asked, writing Mrs Hudson’s name on a box.
“Christmas eve.” Imogen said, putting too much sticky tape on a gift for Sherlock. “Dad doesn’t want to be there too long.”
“I’m sure. So you’ll still be here for the Christmas party?”
“Yep. Gotta give everyone their presents.”
“Did your dad talk to you about money?”
Imogen pouted. “Yes. He says I can spend my pocket money but any money from Uncle Mycroft is gonna go in my bank account and I’m not allowed to use it less he says so.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much, your dads pretty lenient with you.”
Imogen frowned, looking up from the gifts. “Is that bad?”
“It’s not bad, exactly, it’s just… it’s important that people with access to a lot of money learn the value of it. You grow up with an abnormal or skewed relationship with money you…”
“What?”
“Become obnoxious.”
Imogen giggled, and John smiled at her.
“Get enough of that from your dad thanks, if we can keep you a bit more sensible and a bit less crazy I’ll count that as a win.”
“You’re crazy.” Imogen said, sticking a bow to his shoulder.
“You’re crazy.”
“You.”
“You.”
“You.”
“You times infinity.”
Imogen laughed, and John smiled at her. He really adored this kid.
“What did you get me for Christmas?” He asked, pretending to peak at her bags.
“It’s already wrapped,” She said, pointing at the small pile under the small tree by the window. He could see three hap-hazardously wrapped presents set there already.
“What is it?”
“It’s a surprise, duh,”
“Watch it miss.” He piled some excess ribbon onto her head. Imogen laughed and shook it off.
“What are you doing for Christmas?”
“I’m gonna see my sister. She’s cleaned up her act, so we’re gonna try and start over.”
“I wish I had a brother or sister.”
“Yeah? Older or younger?”
“Ummm…” Imogen thought for a minute, her face in a serious frown. “Little, I think. That’s more realistic.”
John smothered a laugh. Personally he thought the odds of Imogen getting a younger sibling were about as good as Sherlock somehow travelling back in time and having another child before her.
“Maybe I’ll have kids someday, and you can be a cousin.”
“Really?” Imogen asked, excitedly.
“Sure. You’ll be the cool older cousin who’s probably a bad influence.” He only half joked.
“Yeah!” Imogen giggled. “Are you gonna marry your girlfriend? Cus you have a lot of them.”
John half laughed, half scoffed, “Excuse me? I’m not gonna find someone I want to marry if I don’t date, am I?”
“I guess not. I don’t know. Dad doesn’t date.”
“I don’t think things like that interest him.”
“Cus he doesn’t like people?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“He likes you.”
She said it so matter-of-factly, so casually, it took his brain a second to process the words.
“What?” He asked dumbly.
Imogen shrugged, biting some tape to break it off the roll. “He doesn’t like most people but he likes you. If he wants to date someone he could, they would just have to be someone like you.”
John watched her as she tied the ribbon around a small gift, completely unaware and unbothered by the awkward atmosphere she’d created (so much like her father).
“Right, well, um…” John cleared his throat, getting up. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”
“Can I open a present?” Imogen asked, flitting around the living room while John set up for the party. People were going to start arriving soon and neither Holmes’ were being helpful.
“Ask your dad.”
“Dad!” She yelled. John winced at the volume.
“What?” Sherlock asked, coming out of his room, freshly showered and in a suit.
“Can I open a present at the party?”
“If anyone brings you a present you can open it.”
“Yay!” She tried to grab a cookie off the table and John smacked her hand.
“Oi! Those are for the party.”
“Go shower and change.” Sherlock said, ushering her into the hall. “People will be here soon.”
Imogen disappeared and John and Sherlock collapsed into their armchairs.
“Why did we give her so much chocolate?” Sherlock groaned.
“We really need to work on our communication.”
“She played us both. How can someone so small be so manipulative?”
“She’s your daughter. Just be glad she’s using her powers for sweets and not evil.”
“Today was evil.” He rubbed his hands down his face. “I’m surprised the house is still standing.”
“I hope no one brings her anything with sugar.”
“Maybe we should put some melatonin in the eggnog.”
“Hers or yours?”
Sherlock smirked, “Yes.”
After her shower Imogen changed into the Christmas dress Mrs Hudson bought for her. It was red with long sleeves and white trim, a black belt and gold buttons. Mrs Hudson even sewed a Santa hat to a headband so it wouldn’t fall off. She called dad into the bathroom when she was dressed and he dried and curled her hair.
“Dad?” She said, playing with her hot wheels in the sink.
“Mm?”
Imogen scrunched up her face. “Are you gonna be nice to people tonight?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean sometimes you can be mean to people, even if you don’t mean to. But everyone coming tonight is our friend and it’s Christmas, so you should try and be nice tonight.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You embarrass Molly and Lestrade a lot. If you can’t say something nice don’t say anything at all.”
“Who’s teaching you that?” Sherlock asked, almost disgusted.
“John.”
“Of course. Fine, I will do my best not to offend or humiliate anyone tonight.”
“Good.” she nodded, satisfied.
Once her hair was done Sherlock helped her put on her hat and they went back to the living room, where Mrs Hudson and John’s latest girlfriend were sitting and chatting while John got some drinks.
“Oh don’t you look adorable!” Mrs Hudson cooed, holding her arms out. Imogen ran over and gave her a hug.
“Merry Christmas!”
“Happy Christmas, dear. I put your present under the tree.”
Imogen turned excitedly to the tree but before she could run over Sherlock picked her up, sitting on his chair and setting her on his lap. “Later.”
“Oh go on Sherlock, I want to see her open her gift before you go.”
Imogen gave him a pleading look and he relented. “Go on.”
She ran over to the tree, grabbing the gift and running back over, climbing back on Sherlock’s lap.
“You know this is why she’s all hyped up on sugar?” John pointed out, coming in and handing a drink to his girlfriend. “Because you cave constantly.”
Both Holmes’ ignored him as Imogen opened her present. Inside the box were three colouring books, one for dinosaurs, one for the ocean, and one for nature, and a large set of markers and pencils.
“Thank you!” Imogen grinned. “Oh! I got you something!” She dumped the presents on Sherlock and grabbed the gift for Mrs Hudson.
“What do we have here then?” She asked, opening the gift. Inside was an incredibly soft purple scarf with subtle, thin silver embroidery that made an overhead map of London.
“How beautiful! Did you pick this out yourself?”
“Yeah! I bought it all by myself.” Imogen grinned, excited and proud.
“I love it, thank you darling.” She gave her another hug. John and Dad gave Mrs Hudson their gift, a laptop, and she gave them both a tin of sweets, John a new jumper and dad a new dark blue dress shirt.
John put on some Christmas music on the radio and they made small talk about their holiday plans until Lestrade and Matt showed up.
“Merry Christmas everyone,” Lestrade said, pulling off his coat.
Imogen ran over with a bag, holding it out to Matt. “I got you a present!”
“Thanks,” Matt grinned, taking the gift bag.
“I got one for you too,” Imogen held out another gift for Lestrade.
“Thanks Imm,” Lestrade said taking the gift. “We got you something too.”
Matt and Imogen opened their presents. Imogen had gotten him a succulent in a brown pot to add to his little balcony garden, and he got her a Jurassic park puzzle.
Imogen and Matt sat at the table playing games while the adults drank and did whatever adults did at parties. It must have been boring because within ten minutes dad had joined them while they played Uno.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” Imogen asked Matt. She was happy to see him; they were different ages and went to different schools, so they didn’t get to hang out unless their dads arranged it.
“We’re going to Dorset to see dads family,” Matt said, putting down a card. “Nan lives on a hill so we get to go sledding.”
“I wish I could go sledding.”
“I’m sure your grandfather will pull you around on a palette or something if you asked,” Sherlock said, somewhat derisively, reversing the order.
“We’re going to see my grandparents too.” Said Imogen.
“Where do they live?”
“In Sussex. We’re taking the train.”
There was a knock on the door behind them and they all turned as Molly came in. Everyone exchanged hello’s and Sherlock gave a bored sigh. Imogen gave him a look. John got Molly a chair and she took off her coat, revealing a long black dress.
John and Lestrade both gawked, and Imogen ran up to her.
“You look so pretty!” She said emphatically, “I love your hair,”
“Thank you,” Molly smiled, running a hand over her dress. “You look lovely too.”
Molly took her hand and Imogen spun for her, showing off the dress and her hair.
“Mrs Hudson bought it for me.”
John brought over a chair for Molly. “Oh, thank you. I heard you were going to your sisters for the holidays. Sherlock was complaining.”
Dad looked up, looking indignant.
“… saying.” Molly amended.
“Yep.” John said, sitting back down with Jeanette. “First time ever, she’s cleaned up her act. She’s off the booze.”
“Nope.” Dad said, not looking up from his cards.
“Shut up Sherlock.”
Lestrade offered Molly a drink. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you were gonna be in Dorset for Christmas?”
“That’s first thing in the morning. Me and the wife – we’re back together. It’s all sorted.”
Dad made a sound and Imogen whipped around to face him, giving him a deadly serious look. He kept his mouth shut. It was bad enough when he poked at his marriage troubles usually, but she didn’t want Matt to hear whatever rude contradiction he had on the tip of his tongue.
They played a few more rounds of uno before moving on to snakes and ladders, mostly because Matt got tired of losing.
Around Ten there was another knock on the door and Imogen was surprised to see Uncle Mycroft.
“What are you doing here?” dad asked, blunt as ever.
“I believe I was invited.” Uncle Mycroft said, giving him a sarcastic smile.
“You invited him?” Dad asked John.
“I did.” Imogen said. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Uncle Mycroft said, slightly less sarcastic. “Seeing as it was this or spending the entire day out in Sussex I decided to make an appearance.”
“I got you a present,” Imogen held out a gift.
“Thank you.” Uncle Mycroft took it, exchanging it for a medium sized Christmas bag. “You’re up quite late.”
“Yeah she got into the chocolate and now she’s hyper. She may never come down.” John explained, sighing dramatically to make Imogen laugh. “Drink? We have wine, scotch…?”
“Can I try wine?” Imogen asked.
“You cannot.” John said immediately.
“Might get her to sleep,” Sherlock piped up.
“Absolutely not.” John said, heading to the kitchen. Imogen hid her smile and dad caught her eye and winked.
Sherlock leaned back against the shelter at the train platform, bemoaning the tardiness of the railway and wandering what was wrong with his child.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Tryn’ ta catth thnowflaketh,” Imogen said, her head tilted back and her tongue sticking out.
Sherlock shook his head, looking back at his phone. “Your tongue is going to freeze and fall off.”
Imogen stopped, looking over at him with her grumpy little frown that he secretly found very cute. “No it won’t,” But she didn’t sound entirely confident.
The train finally arrived and he ushered her to their seats.
It took two hours to get to his parents town. The snow had picked up, so his father had driven over to pick them up.
Sherlock woke to the sound of knocking on his bedroom door and groaned into his pillow. One of his mother’s more irritating beliefs was in a rigid sleep schedule to maintain brain function. If insomnia slowed his brain down he probably wouldn’t have tried heroin.
“Time to get up,” She called through the door. “Breakfast is ready.”
He groaned again, before rolling onto his back. His childhood bedroom was unchanged since he left for collage at seventeen; a mostly empty bookcase, an old television on the dresser, a corkboard of awards and certificates his parents insisted on keeping. Knickknacks and his luggage for the weekend sat on his desk, which sat under the window overlooking the backyard and the field behind it.
Finally dragging himself out of bed, he crossed the hall to the bathroom and splashed water on his face, trying to wake up.
“Let’s get this over with.” He muttered, heading down to the spare room that had once been Mycroft’s. He peaked in, seeing Imogen still tucked under her blankets. He gently shook her awake, knowing she would be grumpy if she was startled.
“Time to get up.” He said, pulling back the blankets.
Imogen grumbled and rolled over, sitting up and rubbing her bleary eyes. She let out a big sigh and slumped against his arm. “Wanna go back to bed?”
Sherlock chuckled softly. “Your grandmother has made a large, overly elaborate breakfast and if we don’t eat we will never hear the end of it.”
Imogen huffed.
“You’re the one who wanted to come here.” Sherlock pointed out, only slightly petulantly. “Come on.” He stood and picked her up, carrying her out of the room and down the stairs. She was still small for her age, but there wouldn’t be much longer that he could carry her around like this. He didn’t like the thought.
Sherlock set Imogen at the table and sat down next to her.
“Merry christmas everyone!” His father said, coming into the room in slacks and an ugly christmas sweater.
“Merry christmas,” His mother said. She kissed the top of Imogen’s head and set a plate piled with food in front of her. “And merry Christmas to you too my darlings.”
“Yes, yes,” Sherlock sighed, “merry christmas we’ve established.”
“Don’t be such a downer darling, it’s christmas.”
“Really, I hadn’t noticed.”
She lightly smacked his shoulder.
Over breakfast Sherlock and Imogen woke up, and by the time she was done Imogen was excited to open her presents.
His parents christmas tree was large and elaborately decorated, a golden star perched on top. Underneath were an alarming amount of gifts meticulously wrapped. Another one of his mother’s rules: if the wrapping wasn’t done to her standards, the present went at the back of the tree.
“Please tell me those are not all for my daughter.” He said, sitting on the armchair.
“Oh lighten up Sherlock,” His mother said, sitting on the lounge, “She’s our first – and the way you and your brother are going only – grandchild, and we see her once a year. Let us spoil her while we have the chance.”
“Nothing stopping you from visiting London.” He pointed out.
“How about a present?” His dad asked, cutting off them off before the bickering could become a fight.
“Yes!” Imogen agreed.
Sure enough most of the gifts under the tree were for Imogen. Sherlock decided to let it go, since arguing with his mother never got them anywhere, and watched as Imogen opened clothes, books, and toys. He was glad she was passed the age that her toys were loud and annoying.
Sherlock got a watch from his father that was actually quite beautiful and a tie and cufflinks from his mother. He thanked them, debating if John wore suits enough to want cufflinks for christmas.
Imogen had picked out a book of crochet patterns for her grandfather and Sherlock bought some old jewellery he knew fit his mothers style.
After presents they watched some christmas cartoon that was on TV while his parents started on lunch. Well, Imogen did, Sherlock went through his inbox looking for interesting cases.
The whole Christmas thing was a pain in the ass, and they were only doing it for Imogen. Sherlock had agreed that first christmas with her to spend it with his parents because, honestly, it was early days and he had no idea what he was doing. Afterwards his parents and Imogen insisted on keeping up the tradition. He’d pointed out they hadn’t really celebrated Christmas since he was a teenager, but they said things changed when children came along.
After the movie Imogen wanted to play outside, so Sherlock ended up outside with his father, watching Imogen play in the fresh snow, powder kicking up as she ran around taking pictures and trying to make things out of snow.
“How’s your detecting thing going?” His dad asked, sipping his tea.
“Fine.”
“Been busy?”
“Mm. Not as busy as I’d like.”
“How’s she doing?” He nodded towards Imogen. “Still having trouble with that teacher?”
“No, she moved school’s when we moved.”
“Oh, right, right. How’s your brother? You two still speaking?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Yes, we’re speaking. Came to the christmas party day before yesterday.”
“You had a christmas party?” He sounded shocked.
“My flatmate had a party.” He clarified quickly. “I was just… there. Imogen invited Mycroft.”
“That’s nice. It’s good, her, she brings you two together.”
Sherlock tried not to make a face. “Hardly.”
“She’s been good for you, for all of us. We were… floating away from each other for a long while there. I know that’s not unusual, you two were adults, off living your lives, but we missed you boys. Especially your mother. I know she was upset, when everything came out, but I’m glad you gave us another chance. It’s nice to feel like a family again.”
“Upset is certainly a word for it.” Sherlock said, trying to feel annoyed, because the more painful emotions that popped up in the wake of his mother’s initial reaction to the whole situation – or at least the version she got – weren’t things he liked to relive.
“Regardless, we’re glad you’re here.”
“She wanted to come. She misses the country.”
His father nodded. “Do you ever see Liliana or Maxwell? Or anyone, from Lydia’s side?”
“No.” Sherlock said immediately. “Maxwell is still in prison. Liliana is too mentally and emotionally unstable to be around her.”
“Oh. Well she seems to be adjusting well. You’ve done really well with her.”
Sherlock looked over at his father, a confused, almost startled look on his face.
“Oh don’t look like that,” He chuckled. “She’s a smart, confident kid. Three years ago she was a little mouse, acting like we’d snap at her if she spoke out of turn. You’re doing something right. I’m proud of you.”
Sherlock didn’t know how to react. He was rarely praised for his parenting, especially not by someone whose opinion he, begrudgingly, respected. He didn’t know a lot of parents, so his own childhood and his dad had been his roadmap for his parenting decisions, especially three years ago when his relationship with his mother was at it’s worst and he had no idea what being a father meant.
“Thank you…” He said, like he didn’t know what the words meant.
“Dad!” Imogen called, pointing to her lumpy snow creation. “Look! It’s a dog!”
“Good job,” He said, trying not to laugh. It looked more like a llama that’s head fell off, but she did her best. “Time to come inside.”
Lunch was, to his mother’s credit, delicious. After lunch, his father spent a few hours teaching Imogen how to crochet until they sat down for some christmas movies before his parents announced they were turning in for the night.
Finally, finally¸ Sherlock was free. He packed Imogen’s presents into his suitcase and made sure his things were ready for the train ride in the morning while Imogen showered and changed into her pyjamas.
Imogen wasn’t tired, not surprising, since every time he turned his back his dad was giving her something full of sugar, so he let her colour in her room and watch movies on her tablet for a while.
In his room he pulled out his laptop, going through potential cases and making note of ones that were interesting or challenging. Most of it was petty family drama, but there was one about a seeming ghost haunting in an old manor on the edge of London. The woman who sent the email was a sceptic and made it clear she did not believe it was actually a ghost, so he sent an email agreeing to meet her in a few days.
When he was done there was a text on his phone.
John: Is your christmas going as bad as mine?
Sherlock: Besides the long stretches of mind-numbing boredom it hasn’t been too bad.
Sherlock: What happened?
John: Harry’s back on the drink. Turns out she’s a sad drunk these days.
Sherlock: Sorry to hear. If it makes you feel any better Imogen’s saved you a piece of my dads caramel pie.
John: Can’t wait. How’d she do? Your parents spoil her?
Sherlock: Oh yes. Don’t know where we’re going to put it all.
John: The tanks set, I’ll make sure everything good before you get home.
John sent a picture. It was of the fish tank Sherlock had bought for Imogen, set up in her room. He’d wanted it to be a surprise, so he’d asked John to set it up after they left. He’d picked out the fish himself a few days before, hiding them in his room.
The tank was thirty inches and fit perfectly on her dresser. He knew she’d be upset if he moved everything on her dresser without telling her, so they had rearranged and cleaned her room a few weeks ago under the guise of finding space for her new christmas presents.
It came out better than he had hoped, looking like they had scooped up a part of a reef and dropped it in the tank. There was coral, an algae covered rock in the centre and overwater plants. There was even a shipwreck on the right side of the rock that the fish could swim and hide in. He knew Imogen would love the shipwreck, and he was hoping it would help her sleep better; her insomnia had only gotten worse this year and he was trying to avoid giving her sleep medication as long as possible.
Sherlock: Thank you.
John: No problem. Was actually kind of fun. Good luck with the boredom.
Sherlock: Good luck with your sister.