YULE

[fighting_northumerland]

John stopped in front of the front door. It wasn't too late, he reasoned-- they hadn't seen him yet. They could escape back into the cab, get Chinese, have a quiet night to themselves and not deal with the madness of Watson Christmas...

Behind them, the cab pulled away and turned off into traffic. Trapped.

"Well then," he said, steeling himself, and knocked.

Comments

[punchmeitssubtext]

Beside him, Sherlock was fidgety and awkward, his breath white in the cold air. One of his gloved hands, however, found its way into John's--and he relaxed, just a little.

"Deep breaths," he murmured, as much to himself as to John.

Then the door swung open, and a short, smiling woman with John's eyes and a wealth of laugh lines stood staring up at them, her face a mixture of surprise and delight.

"John!" she exclaimed, moving forward to hug him.

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"Mum," he said, smiling broadly as the warmth of the house leaked out, along with the smells of dinner and pine. "Happy Christmas!"

He pulled out of the hug, giving Sherlock a little squeeze. "Sherlock, this is-- well, its obviously Mum." He fought the sudden urge to throw his hands up like a stage magician, to say TA DA! Your second gay one!

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"Hi." Sherlock offered her a small smile and put out one hand for a handshake. "Sherlock Holmes. Happy Christmas."

Instead of taking the proffered hand, John's mother stepped closer and pulled him down for a warm, motherly kiss on the cheek. He didn't seem to know how to react to that.

"Sherlock. We've heard so much about you. Please, both of you--come in!"

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"John!" A happy voice calls from inside, and is quickly joined by smaller voices of children- "Uncle John! Uncle John!" A small crowd is gathering front of the door and John uses the hefty sack of presents to gently nudge everyone back.

"Hullo Dad! Katie! Harry!" he goes around, accepting embraces and kisses alike, stopping to ruffle a tossled blond head before straightening.

"Everyone, you know about...my...well, this is Sherlock," he said.

Very smooth

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Yes, hi." Sherlock offers the assembled Watsons the most genuine smile he can muster, which comes out a little shy and extremely awkward. "Happy Christmas. Thank you for having me." He glances at the well-dressed woman who must be Harry, at the group of tiny children gathering at John's feet.

He's never really been good at social situations. But John looks so happy, and Sherlock has had a soft spot for happy John for as long as he can remember knowing the man.

"You grew up near Scotland," he points out to John's mother, unable to stop himself. "John didn't tell me that."

Her eyes widen in astonishment. "Why, how did you--?"

"Your accent. I, ah--here, I'll take those."

He moves to take the presents from John, clearly feeling like he needs a little extra armor between himself and the assorted Watsons.

[fighting_northumerland]

John beamed- both at the surprise everyone felt at the first taste of Sherlock's genius, and the restraint his friend had shown. Very good, very good.

"Yeah, I haven't told him anything," John said, maybe standing up a hair straighter. "He's the real deal, he'll tell you all about your own life- careful, Jeffrey, not so many candies that you can't close your mouth..."

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"Uncle John, what happened to your stick?" one of the little girls piped up, moving forward to cling to the hem of his jumper. "Is your leg better?"

"London air must be doing you a lot of good, eh," one of the grown-up cousins (judging by the birthmark on the side his neck that mirrored the one on the little girl's, her father) put in. "City keeps you busy, does it?"

John's mother, meanwhile, was absolutely radiating happiness at her son. "Look at you. I haven't seen you this happy since you got into medical school."

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"My leg is all better now!" John said, rapping his thigh for emphasis. "Sherlock keeps me too busy for a limp," he explained, which he felt was a more reasonable explanation than my mad boyfriend somehow out-witted my psychosomatic symptoms.

John gave Sherlock's hand a squeeze, knowing that he usually didn't encounter people in groups this way- especially not without his defensive insults and jabs.

"We are very happy," he says, almost too softly to hear.

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Sherlock had been pulling away, drifting towards the Christmas tree (perhaps to get away from the sudden and overwhelming press of family), but John kept him anchored. The smile returned, a shadow of the comfortable happiness he usually only displayed when he was at home in Baker Street.

That didn't go by unnoticed--normal people, after all, had a distinct talent for picking up on the social rather than biological clues in one another's body language and faces. John's mother reached over to pat his cheek fondly.

"And we wouldn't have it any other way on Christmas," she declared. "Come on now, take off your coats and stay a while. Maybe you can explain the blog to us grown-ups--the children seem to know all about it."

[fighting_northumerland]

"Yes! The blog! Tell them its all true, Uncle John, the invisible dog and the..."

"Oh," John said, somewhat taken aback. It shouldn't surprise him, after all, its not like he was blogging anonymously, he just assumed people were keeping a closer eyes on what their children got up to. "Well..."

Before he could answer, the rapt attention of the children shifted from him to Sherlock. "Have you got a microchip in your brain?" one asked, curiously.

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Sherlock blinked down at the child in question--a towheaded little thing of indeterminate gender.

"Not the last time I checked," he answered, as carefully as he could. Involuntarily he squeezed John's hand. Normally he didn't care the least bit about what other people thought of him, but dammit, people in love made an effort, however agonizing it might be. "And it, ah, wasn't quite an invisible dog--"

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The kid frowned, "But Uncle John said your brains are like a big computer-- and that's why you know everything about people. Are you not a robot?"

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His first impulse was to make some kind of sharp retort... but this was someone in John's family, and a child to boot. He might never be able to fake normal convincingly for more than a few minutes, but he could at the very least monitor himself carefully enough not to drive off his partner.

"Actually, no," he replied. "Everybody's brain is like a computer, really, I just... use mine differently."

Oh God. How did normal people manage this?

The panic beginning to crystallize in Sherlock's brain was interrupted when he noticed, for the first time, that John's father was actually the tallest person in the room. Yes. That was good. That was data; he could handle data.

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John nearly sagged with relief. He knew how deeply frustrating Sherlock found children and idiots.

"He's just very clever, that's all," John swept in, hoping to cut off any more questions. "He hadn't looked at me for any more than a second and he knew-- where I'd been abroad and what I'd been up to."

Some of the adults looked skeptical, clearly not as easily won over as the children. Harry saved the day, three longnecks clutched in each hand and a bottle opener wedged between her teeth. "Ta," he murmured, knowing that this would lead to an uncomfortable Talk later.

[punchmeitssubtext]

"It was more like thirty seconds," Sherlock corrected. "And really it's just a matter of noticing things." He considered reaching for a longneck, then thought better of it. Adding alcohol into the mix right now could torpedo the whole effort. "Like Mrs Watson's accent. If you're familiar with accents, you can figure out that she spent some significant time in her life close to the Scottish border."

He took a breath, and tried to reinforce his smile a little.

"I, ah. If someone could take this--?" He held out the bag of presents--and as soon as she'd foisted the bottle opener onto her brother, Harry swooped in.

"Here, I'll have that. Hi. Harry Watson, you've probably seen my comments on the blog." She grinned hugely, as if to say, So you're the one who turned my brother queer!

[fighting_northumerland]

John's smile stayed on, but here came the greatest obstacle to a pleasant evening. Oh God don't say you know all about her from my phone, just don't do it.

"Your commentary makes the blogging worthwhile," he said, while Harry gave him a shove full of sibling affection.

"Yeah well, someone's got to ask all the pertinent questions," she replied. "And make sure my baby brother's in good hands."

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"Congratulations on ninety days sober," Sherlock blurted, before he could help himself. He just... she had a pin on the lapel of her jacket, it was right there and totally obvious! Even a normal person would have spotted it!

"I'm," he managed, and finally let go of John's hand. "I'll--go hang up my coat. And. Find a place to put the violin, it's at the bottom of the bag."

[fighting_northumerland]

John and Harry's sibling resemblance was magnified by their shared expression of disbelief. For an moment (brief, but somehow lasting forever) the room was tense and quiet.

John broke the silence with the loudest false laugh he could manage. "Yes! We're very proud, Harry," he said, clapping her on the shoulder. He shot her a quick look he hope she recognized as I'm sorry he's an idiot genius.

"Well then," Harry said, blinking. "You weren't exaggerating in the blog one bit, were you?" her words sound skeptical, but she gives him a reassuring pat on the arm.

[punchmeitssubtext]

Sherlock removed himself to the guest bedroom John's mother had indicated as the evening's coat repository, and took a moment to press the heels of his hands against his eyes.

The noise, the conversation, the children... and all this friendliness, genuine and faked and running together in a terrible blur--on cases he could draw his focus in narrowly, but here there was constant stimulus. Why hadn't he put on a nicotine patch before he'd arrived?

Because of John, he reminded himself, and took a deep breath.

Focus on the input that matters. You will never be normal, but you can at the very least be kind to someone who deserves it. If you've learned nothing else, that much has to have stuck.

And at least Mycroft's not here.

He relaxed, fractionally, his breathing slowing. He could do this. He was going to get through it.

Sherlock slung his coat off, relocating John's present to his trouser pocket, and adjusted his cuffs before venturing back out.

"Right. Well," he said, as neutrally as he could manage. "Hi. It's nice to finally meet you."

[fighting_northumerland]

"Dinner's on the table!" came Mum's cheery voice from the other room, and John sighed with relief as the crowd around him dispersed and headed to the dining room. He placed a hand in the small of Sherlock's back.

"First part's always the worst," he said, his voice low. "Everyone's going to be cramming their faces, so you probably won't have to engage them much."

Harry shot him a look before following the rest of the family. It seemed to say both Oh my God, really? and It's worse than we feared

[punchmeitssubtext]

Sherlock nodded, leaning against him for a moment.

"This is--very different," he muttered. "I'll adjust. Do they know?"

[fighting_northumerland]

John patted Sherlock before withdrawing his hand.

"I think Harry knew before we did, but, ah..." he shrugged. "Maybe we'll say something after dinner but before coffee."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"Right." He tried to keep himself from tensing up reflexively when John drew away.

A rather small girl with bright blonde pigtails peered around the edge of the doorway at them. "Uncle John, will you sit by me this time?"

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John grins at her. "Oh course, Susan-- could you save seats for the three of us?"

When she dashes off to make reservations, John turns. "There's going to be mashed potatoes, you like those. And if you need to leave just fake a text."

[punchmeitssubtext]

"I'm not leaving," Sherlock said softly, and meant it.

True, he would much rather have just called a cab and sped back to the train station. But not alone. He might be overstimulated and out of his depth, but he knew that the gesture was important to John. Over the past year he'd learned a lot about kindness, and even though it irritated and frightened him, he wanted to be kind to his friend. (Partner. Whichever.)

He moved towards the dining room, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure they were still in step with one another.