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sobeautifullyobsessed · 1 year

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Happy Christmas, Mr. Holmes

a Sherlock Holmes x OFC fic

summary: Christmas comes to Baker Street, in a form Sherlock Holmes had never envsioned. There is a sweetness in seeing the holiday through someone else’s eyes, and there are lessons in holiday spirit and the nature of giving–as well as how Love makes the season even brighter–to be learned. Part of a continuing romantic series, this is the tale of Sherlock & Tessa’s first Christmas together. It just proved too irresistable for me not to tell! Takes place in an AU, post Season Two–in which Sherlock didn’t take The Fall. And John hasn’t met Mary yet.

rating: general audience; chapter 3 of 4

Chapter Three: The Gift of Giving

Eight days until Christmas, and all of Sherlock’s plans had fallen into place precisely as he had ordained. Tomorrow would bring a rush of activity as the first of his gifts for Tessa arrived—quite literally—demanding his attention throughout the day, if the surprise he intended for her was to succeed. Accordingly, he had finally confided in John what he had arranged for, a few days earlier. John had readily agreed to provide the crucial assistance Sherlock needed, and both men knew well the timing required to carry it all off. Best of all, Tessa had no inkling as to the wonder awaiting her.

That evening in Saint Mary of the Angels had remained fixed in Sherlock’s mind for several days afterwards, as he tried to puzzle out the best way to give Tessa the Christmas comfort of the family she was missing so. He precluded arranging for a visit home for her, almost immediately, knowing she was committed to her current production well past the holidays, and that the theatre would be dark only after the Christmas Eve matinee, resuming its regular run on Boxing Day. But if she were to have free time enough to visit her family in America, he would have been hard pressed to see her go--for to his great astonishment, he was enjoying the season in a way he had never imagined he ever would, experiencing it anew in the happy reflection of her eyes, and in her gentle love of the goodness and charity which she maintained the holiday generally engendered in people; in truth, she had become for him the quintessence of Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Present. For every example he might cite regarding the rapaciousness of greedy shoppers (and the merchants who preyed upon this fault in human nature), she would consistently give him two or three examples that countermanded his belief that Christmas in the 21st century was merely an excuse for covetous excess. Sherlock realized he should have expected no less—for had he not come to love her for the same optimism, kindheartedness, and tender expectations that she had shown him from their very start?

And so he had proceeded, peppering their conversations over the next week or so, with questions about her family and their holiday traditions, leading her to believe that his curiosity was rooted in how far different his youth had been from hers. What information he couldn’t glean directly, he simply did a little research to find, Facebook and other social networking sites being the easiest source to turn to. From there, he’d contacted some of her closest family members via email, introducing himself as her very good friend and asking for their help in providing a Christmas surprise that Tessa would never dream was coming her way. In short order, he had the arrangements squared away, and looked forward with great anticipation to her reaction when the unexpected gift would be revealed.

Thursday morning dawned bright and cold, but fortunately no precipitation was expected, meaning the schedule Sherlock and John were to follow that day would not be interrupted with inconvenient weather. Sherlock let Tessa believe he was busy with casework most of the day, disappointing her hopes of seeing him before her evening performance; but in exchange he told her he would be in the audience that evening. He knew that was bound to give her a little extra incentive to excel, for she had told him more than once his attendance at her plays made her a little more nervous, but in a good way, heightening her desire above all else to make him proud of her.

The curtain rose at 7:30, and Tessa was indeed in top form, delivering another rousing rendition of The Miller’s Son towards the end of Act II. During the curtain call, Sherlock wondered if she felt the extra enthusiasm in the applause, and if she could hear the very American sounding hoots and cheers that were coming from the section in which he was seated. If she had, he was certain she wouldn’t think it any more than visiting tourists praising one of their own.

He allowed the usual time for her to go through her post-performance rituals, eventually texting to ask if he might come back to the dressing room to see her (a departure from their regular routine) as he might need to dash off at DI Lestrade’s request to join him at a crime scene. Tessa told him she’d let the Stage Manager know (unaware he was already in on the surprise) but that she hoped Sherlock would find time afterwards to stop by her flat, no matter the hour. That was a detail he smiled over, but kept quietly to himself.

The Stage Manager ushered Sherlock and his party to the large common dressing rooms, indicating where they would find Tessa by knocking on the door and calling out for her. Sherlock nodded to the man in thanks, and then turned to await her appearance, keeping his face impassive in the final moments before his well-planned surprise would break. Those with him were hushed in happy anticipation, even the youngest silent in her excitement at her mother’s urging.

Tessa opened the door and reached her arms out to embrace him, asking lightheartedly, “Darling, do you really have to run off so…” Her mouth dropped wide in wonder as she took in the little group standing behind Sherlock. “Ohmygosh,” she whispered, shocked and pleased all together, “Oh my gosh, how…when…” and then she rushed forward into the arms of her waiting family. Sherlock stood aside as they greeted one another, all speaking at once, excited and happy and tearful in some cases, all of them wanting to hug her at once, until it became one big hug, all huddled together and not wanting to let go. Though he stood apart from them, the warmth of the moment was not lost upon Sherlock, and he felt a wonderful, deep sense of satisfaction at seeing how happy they all were, not the least of which was his beloved Tessa.

As if sensing his thoughts, she turned his way, her tears clearly exultant, and moved to pull him closer, until he was wrapped in their midst. Hugging him tightly, she murmured against his ear, “Sherlock, you are the best man in the entire world, and I’ll love you forever for this.” Tessa pressed her lips against his cheek, before turning back to her family; she took his hand, steadfastly keeping hold, as the rush of conversation with her family members continued.

Sherlock allowed them several more minutes before speaking up, to gently move the evening along, “Tessa, we’ve got reservations for a late supper, and a car is waiting for us outside.” She nodded in understanding, and the couple moved towards the exit, followed by her two sisters, brother and niece.

They’d closed the restaurant down, which was no surprise as Tessa’s family was still operating on Eastern Standard Time. The meal had been animated, with lots of overlapping conversation and much laughter and reminiscing. Tessa had been thrilled her brother and sisters had finally gotten a chance to see her work, and they complimented her vigorously on what she had achieved, going on to fill her in on all the many details of their lives and careers and college life (in the her youngest sister’s case), returning often to discuss the sweet memories of the Christmases their parents had created for them.

Tessa had given Sherlock place of honor on one side, despite the fact he told her she should have one of her sisters beside her. On her other side sat her seven year old niece, Jane, who was very excited to be on the whirlwind adventure, with lots and lots of questions for her aunt about Christmas traditions in this new place, and does Santa visit the children in London too, and what did she like best about living here. Tessa answered her questions with humor and patience, to the wide-eyed girl’s satisfaction, so that Jane decided she wouldn’t mind so much to spend Christmas here so long as Father Christmas (as Auntie Tessa had explained he was called in Britain) would find her here. Tessa laughed softly, “Oh, you’ll be home in time for Santa to leave your presents there,” and had then leaned in close to the child, telling her in a stage whisper loud enough for all to hear, “And the thing I love best about living here is this wonderful gentleman beside me.”

Jane moved forward to see past Tessa, “Is my auntie your favorite part of living here, too?” she inquired, fixing Sherlock in her sights with the candid scrutiny of a child.

His honest smile was taken by all at the table as answer enough, but for Jane and Tessa’s sakes, he replied, “My most favorite thing ever.” The girl nodded, pleased with his response, then reached to whisper in her aunt’s ear, so softly that none but Tessa could make her out. Tessa kissed her niece’s cheek, telling her back, “I think so too, Jane. I really, really do.”

Sherlock had made arrangements for rooms at a hotel in the heart of London, figuring that during their brief visit, Tessa would likely want to show them around the city. They dropped her family there, saying goodnight with promises for great doings on the morrow, before heading home to Baker Street. In the quiet of the cab, Tessa asked for details on how he had arranged for her siblings to visit. Sherlock answered her modestly, telling her how the idea had come to him, and how John--and even Mycroft--had helped to pull it off. That her family had been only too happy to take up his offer, willing to rearrange their schedules to make the trip a reality, and that the only reason her oldest brother didn’t join them was, of course, the imminent arrival of his third child.

Tessa had been concerned about the cost of the trip, as her younger sister, Mary Elizabeth, had told her that they’d been delightfully surprised when Sherlock had arranged everything for them, and not asked for anything to defray the cost. He responded simply that he had called in a couple of favors so that the cost was nominal, and that—at Sherlock’s request—Mycroft had used his influence to see her family had been bumped up to first class for the flight. “He is practically the British government, after all,” he confided to her, “and I’d have been foolish not to take advantage.” In all their discussion, Sherlock was ever anxious to deflect any notion that he’d acted above and beyond what any man would do for the woman he loved, but Tessa’s heart knew better.

“You may fool most of the world, Sherlock Holmes,” Tessa told him later, reaching to turn off the bedside lamp, as they retired for the evening, “but I see the best of you, and you’re just as susceptible to the sentiment of Christmas as anybody of tender heart.”

He made a quiet, scoffing sound, but that did not deter her. “Bringing my family here isn’t even the best of the gift you’ve given me. As far as I’m concerned,” she kissed his cheek, before laying her head against his shoulder, “you embracing the selfless spirit of Christmas is the greatest gift I could ever ask for.”

In the darkness, as she fell to sleep beside him, Sherlock reckoned the finest gift she had given him was that very lesson—and the satisfaction—of allowing himself do just that.

(to be continued)

if you missed them:

Chapter One: a Christmas 'thing'

Chapter Two: Deck the Halls

If you enjoyed this, I’m hoping you would be so kind as to reblog it. Being stuck in shadow ban prison has severely curtailed exposure of my work here on tumblr. Any reblog you could give me would be sure to share this story with many others, and maybe get this piece some much-needed love. Thank you!

buy me a coffee?☕

#my writing #Happy Christmas Mister Holmes #bbc sherlock #fluff #light romance #established relationship #Christmas comes to Baker Street #Christmas #Christmastime #Sherlock Holmes #Benedict's Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes x OFC #Sherlock x OFC #Tessa DeMauro #OFC

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hannamichelle-seraf · 1 year

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#hannamichelle-seraf #light academia #light academy #light romance #spring #light academia aesthetic #light academia moodboard

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thebestbookrecommendations · 1 year

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The Luminous Dead - Caitlin Starling

When Gyre Price lied her way into this expedition, she thought she’d be mapping mineral deposits, and that her biggest problems would be cave collapses and gear malfunctions. She also thought that the fat paycheck—enough to get her off-planet and on the trail of her mother—meant she’d get a skilled surface team, monitoring her suit and environment, keeping her safe. Keeping her sane. Instead, she got Em. Em sees nothing wrong with controlling Gyre’s body with drugs or withholding critical information to “ensure the smooth operation” of her expedition. Em knows all about Gyre’s falsified credentials, and has no qualms using them as a leash—and a lash. And Em has secrets, too . . . As Gyre descends, little inconsistencies—missing supplies, unexpected changes in the route, and, worst of all, shifts in Em’s motivations—drive her out of her depths. Lost and disoriented, Gyre finds her sense of control giving way to paranoia and anger. On her own in this mysterious, deadly place, surrounded by darkness and the unknown, Gyre must overcome more than just the dangerous terrain and the Tunneler which calls underground its home if she wants to make it out alive—she must confront the ghosts in her own head. But how come she can't shake the feeling she’s being followed?

Read if You Like:

Horror

Science Fiction

LGBTQ Characters

Thrillers

Cave Exploration

Books with Small Casts

Psychological Fiction

Recommended if You Enjoy:

S. A. Barnes (Dead Silence)

Mira Grant (Into the Drowning Deep)

What I Liked:

Everything! I loved this book so much. It was super suspenseful and I couldn’t put it down. There’s an extremely small cast of characters (basically one and a voice) but it was still so engaging.

What I Could Live Without:

Compared to the suspenseful nature of the story the end felt really abrupt and just wasn’t up to par with the rest of the story.

Rating: 4.5/5

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fairys-darkacademia · 11 months

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- The Good Luck Charm on Wattpad, by Highroad Fairy

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rikiblues · 1 year

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that's how it is

featuring. txt choi soobin x fem!oc contents. canon compliant, angst, anxiety

track. none word count. 1913

Starlit nights usually provide some amount of comfort to Choi Soobin.

There's something about the silver-white twinkling that gets him all the time. Certainly, he is no stranger to the fact that he isn't alone in that notion; stars have fascinated mankind for as long as it has been in existence. Soobin knows that he isn't the only idol who turns to stargazing as a form of self-healing, either. Not that he asked. It's just common sense, he thinks.

He heaves a sigh, raising a hand up to the sky where those stars twinkle dimly. Even this high up he can't see them very well, and he longs to go somewhere where he can gaze at those burning balls of fire even a little clearer. But he supposes that he should be happy he gets to see them, that he gets a little breathing room from the hectic life he chose when he didn't know any better.

He doesn't regret it, not really. He just wishes he knew what he was getting himself into before he signed that contract. At twenty-two, he knows more than he did at twenty-one; certainly so much more than he did at seventeen. He loves his career, he loves being able to do what he does, making a living out of it—but there are parts of it he wishes he didn't have to subject himself to.

"What are you thinking?" Minseo asks, nudging him. She looks worse than he does, having wiped off her makeup the minute all her group's pre-recorded performances had been declared over and done with. The rest of her members are currently getting undressed and changing into somewhat more comfortable clothes, but Minseo is up here still dressed in her rumpled stage outfit much like Soobin, who has another recording in half an hour. End-of-the-year performances are always so difficult in different ways.

"How different things would be if I'd listened to my mom," Soobin answers, stepping closer. Their arms brush together and he moves so that they stay connected. He needs something to keep him anchored to the present right now. "If I'd never gone to the call-back audition."

"Would we be still here?" Minseo wonders. "Not here on a roof, I mean. Would we still be together or would we never know each other?"

"I like to think we'd always find each other," a small smile plays on Soobin's lips. Minseo laughs at that. "But really. There are things I wish I'd done differently. Said differently."

"Like what?"

Soobin shrugs, turning his head away. Swallowing discreetly. He doesn't think he's ready to share it, not now. All of those small anxieties, little irritations and fears—they ballooned into something so much bigger, something that has him unable to breathe sometimes. Is this how grown adults really live? Scared of what comes next? Certainly, Soobin is not the only leader in k-pop frightened of what his abilities are doing for the group—whether it's for the good or for the bad.

Soobin has confidence that the members know he's always available to them, that he leads them in a way that is clean and organized, but he doesn't know if he's really living up to the standards that he set for himself. The members know that he tries his best, that he wants to be the best leader that he can be, but they don't know that behind closed doors, Soobin is close to falling apart more than not. Even on good days, the tiredness is so much. Too much.

He isn't like Minseo, who somehow always keeps a smile on even when she has to be tired to the bone. When her group's maknae is having her teenage angst phase that isn't a phase but very real problems she doesn't know how to handle. When the only member older than herself fractured her ankle and had to sit out of group promotions in the middle of a comeback, Minseo had twice as much to do.

When she and Soobin got caught alone, holding each other, it left no room for any doubt whether they were more than friends. When they both got into trouble for hiding the fact they were together and barely scraped through only because both of them were trustworthy—and they had been hiding it for six months by then.

Through it all, Minseo had kept her cool. She'd pulled through while Soobin panicked and cried; a lot of the time, he was an inch away from hyperventilating. He had been terrified and he should've been the one holding it together, not Minseo doing it for him. He had a year of experience on her; he'd survived the abuse the public had thrown at him and the other four for being from Big Hit. It didn't make sense to him that he was the one who most needed comfort.

A small part of him wondered if it was the very abuse and hatred thrown at him that made him the way he is, back then. But it's been a while since then. The group is thriving. Besides, it hadn't been a big issue, not until a while after it boiled over.

"You'll be fine," Minseo whispers, putting an arm around him. "You can do this. Don't worry."

"How do you know?" Soobin asks helplessly, swallowing the lump in his throat. His voice isn't at all steady; it wavers, it threatens to break. Once again, Soobin is scared of what could happen. He is terrified of the unknown, and he doesn't even know what brought this on, which is the worst of it. The way nothing even happened, and yet, Soobin is scared, close to falling apart again. He can't let that happen, not now. Not until the award show season is done—

No, wait. There's that comeback in January. He has to keep it together until at least that's over.

He will not break down and be forced to take a break when there isn't even anything physically wrong with him. His members need him.

"Because you have people by your side," Minseo whispers. Her almond-shaped eyes, usually brown but now a light blue because of the contacts she's wearing, catch his own round, watery ones with so much affection—so much sincerity and love that it hurts because he doesn't know if he deserves it, or anything at all. He promised he would become a leader to be proud of when they selected him, but really, what is he amounting to, at this rate? "Me. Your members. Your family."

Drawing in a shaky breath, Soobin's gaze returns back to the glimmering stars. He remembers that the stars he sees are stars which died long ago, and the twinkling is merely an echo of what they've left behind, traveling across light years incomprehensible to him. Who will remember him, when he dies? Will he leave behind a mark like an almost-everlasting flicker of light to remember him by?

Suddenly, he wants to go home. He wants to curl up in his mother's arms even though he's almost three feet too tall for that, and cry. He wants the familiar comfort and love that he grew up with, knowing it was forever—she might not have believed in him then, but there is truly no supporter of him bigger than his mother is.

"I want to go home," Soobin confesses, voice cracking, breaking. A shaky sob expels itself from his shaking body—and why is he falling apart? He shoves his hand into his pocket, searching for the tissue he used earlier to dab at his itchy eyes, and when he finds it, he dabs at the tears threatening to spill over before they ruin his makeup. The coordi-noonas will touch him up when he returns, but there's no sense in making them redo him entirely. "I want my mother. But I can't have that."

"Sure, you can," Minseo says, her hand drawing comforting circles on his hip bone. His own hands are gripping the railing hard enough that his knuckles are whitened. "Home is forever."

Is it? Soobin wonders. Is it really forever?

"I can't," he sniffles once. Swallows again. "There's all of these award show recordings, and we'll be busy practicing for our comeback until it happens at the end of January." Another shaky exhale. "I won't be able to even consider it until something like early March or at least, late February." And if I get permission, he doesn't tell her. She knows that much. Perhaps she knows too well.

"Call your mom, Soobin," she urges. "You're falling apart and you clearly miss her too much."

"It's too late to do that," he refuses. He hasn't checked the time in an hour, but last time he did, it was almost ten p.m. "She'll be asleep now."

Minseo knows better than to push her point, but she lets it go after saying, "call her tomorrow, in the morning, okay?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. The restless, anxious feeling won't go away no matter how much he reminds himself that he is anything but alone. "I promise."

He doesn't know why he says that. Maybe so that he'll actually have incentive to do it, instead of a solid ten minutes of staring at his phone before chickening out—like the last time he desperately needed a hug and an 'I love you' from his mother. He's been on his own for so long by now. Why is it that he is still incapable of handling things like this by himself?

The stars twinkle merrily. Soobin watches them, inhaling the cold winter-night air. Both of them are wrapped in just winter jackets, and it's barely just keeping them warm. Soobin tells himself that he clings to Minseo for warmth, not because he needs comfort. What does he even need that for, really? Nothing happened, so why is he being like this?

His phone dings. He doesn't want to see what it reads, but he has no other choice.

yeonjun-hyung: where are you? we have to be onstage in ten minutes

me: rooftop. on my way

"You have to go?" Minseo asks. Soobin nods. "Okay. You go on first."

It's their routine, for one of them to leave five or ten minutes before the other so that they aren't spotted together. Soobin wishes he could leave with her, but he doesn't even want to think about the backlash they'd get if they were caught. No, he has enough going on.

"See you later," Soobin presses a dry-lipped kiss to the top of her head and backs off, not letting her see the luminosity of his eyes as he walks away and heads downstairs. He takes deep breaths and he carefully dabs at his eyes before he makes his way back to the others.

When he returns, Taehyun frowns at him. "Are you okay?" he asks, concerned.

"I'm fine," Soobin brushes him off, following the makeup-noona to get touched up. Taehyun isn't convinced, clearly, because he follows Soobin and watches him as he gets his makeup done, but he also knows that Soobin won't give him any answers. He stays silent, but his piercing eyes remain on Soobin the whole time.

Soobin isn't lying. He will be okay.

Eventually.

He has to be. He doesn't have another choice. That's how it is in the industry—you have to act as if you are okay. Soobin is the leader, and what kind of leader would he be if he fell apart now?

#soobin #choi soobin #tomorrow x together #choi yeonjun #choi soobin x fem!oc #fanfic #canon compliant #light romance #angst #anxiety #anxiety as a theme

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weirdstrangeandawful · 1 year

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A Good Man's Heart

Total posted word count: 25 872

Part I – The Wreck

Part II – A Night to Remember

Part III – Safekeeping

Part IV – All In a Day’s Work

Part V – Kite

Part VI – Eighteen Going on Nineteen

Part VII – Someone Stole Your Heart?

Part VIII – The Cat

Part IX – Spectres

Part X – A Ship of Broken Sailors

Part XI – Healed and Long-Forgotten Bruises

Part XII – A Set of Hands Means Two

Part XIII – “You Can Say No”

Part XIV – Family

Part XV – Ship Things

Part XVI – “I cannae get more Irish!”

Part XVII – Slings and Arrows

The cover – in horribly low resolution thanks to this hellsite's antics apparently:

#a good man's heart #table of contents #whump #navy whump #light romance #gay #my writing

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seokjinnieswife007 · 1 year

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You know how emotional i got after listening to it. I genuinely sobbed. Like although many of us don't show it and okay it cool like yo we're singles and yayy we don't care but you know what the hopeless romantic in me is ALWAYS in shambles. Whenever I came across people being in love. Seeing heartfelt posts. Romance quotes and such clips. My heart sinks 😖🥺😖😫😩😣💔

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wuxiaphoenix · 2 years

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Oni the Lonely Kindle up, Paperback in Review on Amazon

Okay, people, everything is set and the book in both versions is in review in KDP. So it should be available in a few more days!

And the Kindle version is now live!

Oni the Lonely.

Once the final paperback version's approved I'll be able to order author copies, and then I can post signed books up for sale as well. :)

I meant to try and get this up days ago, but I was waylaid by a bug going around, drat it all.

(Seriously, I did not want to make final cover decisions while the room was still spinning, you know? And it's still wobbling a bit, argh.)

With luck, my brain will finally take this as "okay, this is finished" and let me move on to the next thing. I have plans for the next two books. And a couple other rough drafts of different stories that could stand another look to see if I can fix them now. And a few Ideas that want writing down, one of which needs more research.

...And I also need to look for a second job, 'cause the one I have cut hours and I still need to pay bills. Not enough hours in the day....

#oni the lonely #creative writing #novel writing #light romance #outside urban fantasy #oni #modern folklore

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ch3rryclouds · 1 year

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#light acadamia aesthetic #painting detail #art #swan lake #pastel #princesscore #cupidcore #rococo #princess royal #royalty #royalcore #clouds #light romance #soft aesthetic

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jayvespertine · 7 months

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— Trista Mateer ,“I Still Forget We’re Not Even Friends”

#literature #dark academia #poetry #quotes #poem #light academia #romance #romantic academia #love quotes

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sobeautifullyobsessed · 1 year

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Happy Christmas, Mr. Holmes

a Sherlock Holmes x OFC fic

summary: Christmas comes to Baker Street, in a form Sherlock Holmes had never envsioned. There is a sweetness in seeing the holiday through someone else’s eyes, and there are lessons in holiday spirit and the nature of giving–as well as how Love makes the season even brighter–to be learned. Part of a continuing romantic series, this is the tale of Sherlock & Tessa’s first Christmas together. It just proved too irresistable for me not to tell! Takes place in an AU, post Season Two--in which Sherlock didn't take The Fall. And John hasn't met Mary yet.

rating: general audience; chapter 2 of 4

Chapter Two: Deck the Halls

(the following Saturday)

Passing through the door of 221 Baker Street, Sherlock didn’t need employ his commanding powers of deduction to determine that Mrs. Hudson had started her holiday baking. The air was redolent of sugar and spice, vanilla and cocoa and cinnamon, and his mouth began to water in anticipation of the sweet treats in store. Earlier than usual, he realized, wondering what had prompted the change in her accustomed pattern—normally, her culinary frenzy was reserved for the last week leading up to Christmas. No matter, though; it would be just as much a pleasure to enjoy her cookies, cakes and tarts now, as on Christmas Eve.

He’d left the flat early that morning, on pretext of investigating a lead on a case, waving off John’s offer of help in the matter, and taking time only to down a quick cup of coffee and a day-old Chelsea bun before embarking. There had been a lead of sorts to follow, though not the kind John would have expected, and Sherlock had very satisfactorily concluded that part of the business at hand. It would still be a couple of weeks until the outcome of his efforts reached fruition.

He’d been about to climb the stairs, when the door to Mrs. Hudson’s flat swung open, allowing the aromas of good baking to flood the little anteroom that sat outside 221A proper, to reveal Tessa clad in a flour-dusted apron, oven mitts on hands, and holding a baking sheet covered in fresh gingerbread men. Sherlock couldn’t decide in the moment which was more irresistible—his perennial favorite, gingerbread, or the sight of his Tessa fully attired in the trappings of domesticity. Fortunately she didn’t make him choose. “Darling,” she exclaimed, beaming with delight, “your timing couldn’t be better!” She quickly crossed to his side, stood on tip toes, and kissed his cheek. “Cookie?” she asked, surely already knowing he couldn’t say no.

“This is my last batch for now,” she told him. “Just let me set these on the rack to cool, and I’ll join you upstairs. Sherlock nodded, nibbling on his gingerbread, before proceeding up the stairs.

Reaching the lower landing, he heard the strains of Christmas carols coming from the front room of the flat, giving him pause before he climbed the rest of the way. That had to be Tessa’s doing as well, he deduced, for John knew how he felt about giving in to such trite holiday conventions. Sherlock decided not to fault her in this, but at some point he knew he would have to make his strong opinion known regarding the saccharine rituals of Christmas—and knowing her penchant for the sentimental, sooner than later would be called for, as she was likely to get as carried away with them, as he was to detest them.

Ah, but it turned out he was already too late with that resolution. Standing at the threshold of the front room, he saw that Christmas had exploded in his absence. Sherlock sighed deeply, rolling his eyes, knowing there would be no putting this unwanted present back into its packaging. Tessa came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “John thinks you will find it a terrible bore,” her tone indicating that she expected better of Sherlock, and would settle for no less, “but I insisted we absolutely had to wait for you before we decorated the tree.” She gently prompted him forward, and before he could protest, she was sliding his coat off, to hang it on its accustomed hook on the back of the door. Sherlock remained still, gaping at the profusion of red, green, and gold that dominated his view, trying his best not to sneer too loudly. The battle is surely lost, he thought; Tessa is enjoying this far too thoroughly.

Mrs. Hudson was sitting on the sofa, sorting through a box of ancient looking ornaments, dusting them lightly before laying them upon the coffee table, with frequent pauses to drink what appeared to be steaming, mulled cider. Surely spiked, and certainly leaving her with a very rosy disposition, he concluded. He looked over a John, who stood beside the fresh Douglas fir standing to the left of their hearth; the doctor turned from stringing lights upon the boughs to grin at Sherlock in clear recognition—and hilarity—over what he knew Sherlock had to be thinking. John lifted his own mug of cider in an ironic toast, “Cheers, Sherlock!” John’s amusement over his friend’s inconvenience was unmistakable, “You’re just in time; now the party can really get started.”

In addition to the tree, there were strings of colored lights hanging around the window frames, with garlands of evergreens and strands of holly strategically placed. Most people would find the decorations a modest nod to the season, but Sherlock found them too excessive for his tastes. He realized John was taking full advantage of the opportunity Tessa presented—for in past Christmases, Sherlock had allowed very little in the way of holiday decorations in their flat, forbidding any sort of tree as a waste of time and space, and reserving the playing of Christmas music to the eve and day alone.

Tessa was quick to bring him a hot mug of cider, taking his hand to pull him further into the room. “We wanted to surprise you,” she told him guilessly, “we’ve been planning this all week.”

Her eyes shone so brightly, so happily, that Sherlock swallowed back the sarcasm that normally would have dripped in his response, “And surprised me you have.” He took a bracing swallow of his cider.

Now that he thought about it, he’d caught John and Tessa several times over the previous days, heads close together, sometimes laughing lightly, and swift to move apart when they caught him watching them. He had actually assumed they were discussing the topic of Christmas presents—presents for him specifically—over which he would have no objections in the least. Blinded by his ever-so-slight weakness in the face of the bounties of Christmas, he’d left himself wide open for their cunning ploy.

Sherlock approached the tree in silence, knowing the three waited upon his reaction before continuing their jovial proceedings. “As trees go, I suppose it will do,” he sniffed, “but I expect you will keep it well hydrated, John. We’ll not have needles scattered about the flat well into spring.”

“As opposed to finding fresh body parts in the fridge or microwave?” John chuckled.

“Those items serve a useful purpose, John.” Sherlock’s tone was light enough to make clear he had accepted the inevitability of the tree, “I see no practical reason for this silly spectacle.”

Mrs. Hudson broke her silence, tsking at them “Come on now, boys. Play nice.” She rose and crossed her way to the kitchen to refill her cup. “It’s about time we had a proper tree up here.”

Tessa was at his side again, eager to sooth any ruffled feathers. “It’s not entirely Christmas without one.” She was pouting slightly in her usual way, for she knew it was often enough the thing required to finally win him around. Sherlock could only give her his resigned smile, knowing for certain that she’d likely find a pleasant way to show her gratitude later on. Her suit fully won, she circled his neck with her arms, kissing him squarely on the mouth, and then taking a moment to brush his lower lip with her thumb to wipe away the stain of her lipstick. Tessa’s voice was low enough for his ears alone, “I swear you won’t regret this, my darling. We’ll make it a Christmas to remember.” Her eyes, lingering on his, gave him the sweetest of promises, before she joined Mrs. Hudson in the kitchen.

At this point Sherlock noticed—to his minor chagrin—that several pieces of his equipment, normally stored upon the kitchen table, had been shunted aside, in favor of several types of biscuits cooling on trays and racks. The two women were gathering up the confections into plastic containers, talking quietly as they did so. Apparently Tessa had commandeered both downstairs and upstairs kitchens for a serious baking project; there looked to be a good ten dozen cookies in a variety of flavors. Additionally, he observed a large pan filled with what appeared to be chocolate fudge laced with bits of candy cane, and a smaller pan that looked to contain some sort of salted variety of fudge.

Sherlock found it a little disconcerting—his kitchen so completely out of its usual order--for when he’d left that morning, Tessa had been snugged down under the covers, with no indication of a diabolical Christmas plan on her itinerary for the day. She’d tricked him right well, and now he wondered what other holiday themed surprises he might expect. It was enough to make him start to rue the season.

The women worked together smoothly, gathering up the empty racks and pans into a pile for washing later, and stacking the sealed containers neatly upon the table. Tessa had set aside a small portion of each type of cookie and treat on a platter, which Sherlock assumed meant they were available for immediate consumption. In fact, Tessa had picked up a piece of the salted fudge, and headed his way. “Taste this please, Sherlock, and tell me what you think.” She held it up to his mouth so he could take a bite.

It was actually quite good; salted chocolate-caramel, incorporating two of his favorite flavors of sweets. He took the rest of her proffered piece in hand to finish it. “Very good,” he told her, “your own recipe?”

Tessa blushed slightly, looking delighted with his response, “Well yes; I tinkered a bit until I found the right ingredients and measurements.” Her eyes grew even merrier as she told him, “I made it special just for you.”

Damn it, he thought, she’s just going to steamroll me with this Christmas business; yet her manner in it remained so charming, he knew to offer any objections now would be simply heartless. Caught, he was, in her delicious Christmas cul-de-sac; he supposed he might as well accept it now and settle in for whatever further surprises she had in store. The corners of his mouth lifted in a small, secret smile, knowing that the holiday surprises he had in store for Tessa would far surpass any she might have imagined for him.

Sherlock was to discover that the huge baking Tessa had undertaken was for gift-giving, a tradition handed down for several generations on her mother’s side. “It’s the first Christmas that I’ve been on my own that I’ve been able to do this,” she’d told him, as she continued to tidy up the kitchen after lunch, “The oven in my flat is fussy and far too small for a project like this, and I really never had the luxury of time to do it anyway.” In the end, she had made sure all his apparatus found their way back to their homes, so he was left without a need to complain. And she’d ensured there was plenty of treats for him and John to enjoy, with the promise of more to come if they were greedy enough to finish them off too quickly. Tessa had even left Mrs. Hudson with a basket full of goodies, insisting she take them despite her objection that Tessa needn’t do so.

As for decorating the tree, Sherlock had steadfastly abstained for as long as he could, John good-naturedly needling him from time to time throughout the afternoon a counterpoint to Tessa’s subtle attempts to get him involved. Wiley as her efforts were, Sherlock quickly saw right through them, but as always found them dear, for he knew they were born of her love for him. He had sat down at his computer, meaning to do anything, anything, but what was clearly their priority for the day, meaning to tolerate the process with as much grace as he could muster. Tessa speedily adopted a new tactic, making a casual display of such poor choices in fitting out the branches that his sense of the aesthetic would be offended enough to need to correct her.

Glancing up from the screen at her attempts, Sherlock wrinkled his nose in disapproval, but said nothing. Instead, he fetched a dramatic sigh, closing his laptop, and then grumbled about how anyone expected him to work with such ridiculous goings on around him. Tessa had looked immediately hopeful as he rose, thinking she had finally won him over, but he pointedly selected a random book from the case in the corner opposite the tree, taking his place on the sofa to at least pretend to read it.

Tessa had then redoubled her efforts, now asking him every other minute or so what he thought about a particular ornament, or did he think the tree was looking a little lopsided. John had retired to the kitchen to refill his cider and grab a few of the fresh baked cookies, observing them with a very wry expression on his face, as he waited for Sherlock to either explode in irritation, or simply give in to Tessa’s dogged determination. Mrs. Hudson was busy trying to sort out the best location for the placement of the mistletoe.

Sherlock, of course, was not taking in a word of the book in his hands (a treatise on fungi and their medicinal uses versus dangers) as he waited for Tessa to admit defeat. She eventually came to sit—wide-eyed as a pleading doe--at his side, silent until he turned his full attention to her. “Please?” she asked simply, and in the end Sherlock had conceded. Perhaps it was the healthy dose of rum contained in the cider; perhaps it was the way that Tessa, John, and Mrs. Hudson had joined in merrily with the carols playing; or perhaps it was the very holiday cheer that Tessa seemed to embody, but in the end he found he was more than happy as he helped her deck the tree, setting right her purposeful blunders and, at the last, placing the star atop just as she requested he do.

Mrs. Hudson had long since gone downstairs; John was out on a date (with high expectations of success on the field of amore); and Tessa was leaning upon Sherlock in the warm silence, the room lit only by the fire in the hearth and the glow of Christmas lights. Their conversation had come around to family traditions, highlighting the wealth of differences between their upbringings, and when Sherlock asked her about her happiest Christmas memories, she had many she was glad to share with him. It was a marvel for him to think of her as a girl, of her as a teen on the cusp of womanhood, cradled in the loving environment she described. It was no wonder she adored the season as she did, and he realized that if her intent was to open his eyes to its simple, familial pleasures, she was decidedly succeeding.

“But you know, darling,” her voice soft and satisfied, “you’ve given me one of my brightest memories.”

This surprised him, and so he had to ask, “Really? How so?”

Tessa laid her hand on his shirt, absentmindedly fingering the buttons, as she found the best way to explain, “That day in the church. I never expected that from you. I know now that I should have.”

“What?” he replied, “That I actually showed up?”

She shook her head, softly against his shoulder, “No. That you understood how I was feeling. And that you wanted to make it right for me.”

He was looking at the star atop the tree, remembering what he’d been feeling as she’d cried those sentimental tears. Protective and irresistibly caught in her softness, and knowing in his soul that no matter how messy her emotions were at times, he’d never want her any other way. “My dear, what I wanted in that moment I couldn’t say aloud in a church, for the sake of propriety.” Tessa gasped against his shoulder, surprised; yet he knew she hung upon what he might say next. “What I wanted was to bundle you up and take you back home and make love to you all night long.” Sherlock paused, feeling the truth of his words as a warmth in his chest, “Until you cried out my name again and again, and the only tears you might shed would be happy ones.”

Without a word, without a bit of hesitation, Tessa was kissing him then, in ways that never would have suited those moments in the church, with her hands is hair, and barely stopping even a moment for breath. Finally breaking the kiss, she leaned her forehead against his, whispering, “Oh Sherlock, my Sherlock, my darling, wonderful Sherlock. It’s so cold outside right now,” she lingered deliciously before finishing, “and I need you to bundle me well.”

Of all the things she had asked of him that day, that request turned out to be the easiest one for him to fill. And he would tell her later that she had easily given him his favorite Christmas memory.

(to be continued)

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