12 Drummers Drumming

The radio: Come, they told me pa-rum pum pum pum

Sherlock: Enough!

The radio: Our newborn King to see, pa-rum pum pum pum

Sherlock: No more. I can't stand another minute of insipid holiday songs!

Mrs Hudson: But I like this one.

Sherlock: As you indicated the first dozen times we've heard it today. You like 'The Little Drummer Boy', the one about a white Christmas, something about an anatomically impossible reindeer, and that song about the woman who was obsessed to the point where she asked Santa to kidnap her potential lover and deliver him to her door. Obviously if he wanted to be with her, he would have already made arrangements to see her. His reluctance to be anywhere near her and her request for an abduction implies far greater issues with their relationship than a single holiday together could fix.

Molly: That's-that's not what 'All I Want for Christmas' is about.

Sherlock: Are you sure?

*Molly, Mrs Hudson, and Mary all nod.*

The radio: Shall I play for you, pa-rum pump um pum, on my drum?

*Sherlock turns toward the radio with a murderous glint in his eye. John quickly dodges in front of him and shuts it off.*

John: Easy, mate. I've just put Rosie down for her nap. I'll let Mary maim you if you wake her up.

Mary: I wouldn't maim him. But I would insist he be the one to rock her back to sleep while the rest of us opened presents.

Sherlock: I would have offered to do that regardless. You know how I abhor all . . . this.

*Sherlock waves his hand in the general direction of the tree and several strings of fairy lights.*

*Mary smirks.*

Mary: And that's why at least half the presents under that tree are from you, right?

Sherlock: I had nothing to do with them. Mrs Hudson must have put them there.

Mary: Fibbing.

Mrs Hudson: I did not.

*Molly and John grin as the other three good naturedly bicker about who did what. Eventually the 'argument' ends with Mary on her knees under the tree, passing gifts to Mrs Hudson who reads off the recipient and gift giver's name.*

*Molly sneaks into the kitchen to get a Christmas biscuit (or three) and another glass of mulled cider. She squeaks when she turns around to find Sherlock standing directly behind her. He's got a wrapped present in his hands. Molly recognizes it as the one she gave him all those years ago at 'the Christmas party that was never spoken of again'.*

Molly: How do you still have that? Why do you still have that?

Sherlock: I found it after everyone left. It didn't feel right to open it without you, and there never seemed to be an opportunity to bring it up again. Until now.

Molly: You held on to it for years, just so you could open it in front of me?

Sherlock: Is that wrong?

Molly: No. Just . . . unexpected.

*Sherlock starts to open the wrapping paper and freezes.*

Sherlock: This wasn't something living, was it?

Molly: Well, not now.

*He blanches for a second, then brightens and looks intrigued. Almost eager.*

Molly: I'm kidding! Sorry if I got your hopes up, but it's definitely not anything that's been decomposing in that box.

Sherlock: There's always next year, I suppose.

Molly: Just open it.

*Sherlock finishes pulling the red paper off the gift. The box inside is quickly opened and he stares down at it for a long moment.*

Molly: I know it's not-It's not that good. And it's probably overly sentimental, and I know how you hate that, but I thought . . .

Sherlock: It's good. It's very good.

*inside the box is a small photo frame with a picture of Sherlock and John in the lab at Barts. They are laughing over something on the table between them. The photo had been taken only a few months after they'd become flatmates. In the background, just off to the side and barely visible, stands Molly in her lab coat. She is also laughing at the antics of the two men.*

Molly: Greg took it with his phone. He said it was so rare to see you giggling—his word, not mine—that he needed proof to show the guys at the station. I got him to email it to me and . . . there you go.

*Sherlock blinks and looks up at her, his expression soft.*

Sherlock: Thank you, Molly.

Molly: You're welcome, Sherlock.

*He sets the gift box on the kitchen table and quietly slips through the door to his bedroom where Rosie's cot had been set up, returning with a box of his own.*

Sherlock: I won't insult you by pretending I had a gift for you that night. But I did get you something this Christmas. I didn't want to leave it under the tree in case things didn't work out.

Molly: What do you mean?

Sherlock: Just open it. Please.

*Molly opens the present, wrapped in a pretty blue paper that reminds her of his eyes. She briefly wonders if the colour choice was deliberate—the memory of his deduction about the red wrapping of her gift to him and the colour of her lipstick rang through her mind—then she quickly dismisses the idea.*

Molly: Oh. It's pretty.

Sherlock: It was the brightest colour they had, and you like yellow.

*Sherlock winces as if he'd said something unforgivably inane.*

*Molly holds a buttery yellow scarf up to her cheek.*

Molly: It's soft.

Sherlock: It's cashmere, just like mine.

Molly: Now we almost match.

*Now it's Molly's turn to wince.*

Sherlock: That, erm, that was the intent.

Molly: Sherlock?

*Sherlock stands there for a long moment, looking lost as he tries to remember the words he'd rehearsed several times just that morning.*

Mary: I think what he's trying to say, Molly, is that he'd like to know if you've already got plans on New Year's Eve or if you'd like to come ring in the new year at Baker Street?

Sherlock: Why are you in here? Don't you have crackers to pull or embarrassing photos of John in that hideous sweater to post on-line?

Mary: Nope.

John: No, and don't give them any ideas.

Mrs Hudson: We can do all that later, dear. Now put the poor man out of his misery, Molly, and say you'll come over New Year's Eve. Then pretend there's some of the mistletoe Sherlock refused to let me hang over the table.

*Molly did just that.*

*John took a picture with his phone.*

*The next Christmas there were two picture frames sitting on the mantel. One of Sherlock and John laughing in the lab at Barts. One of Molly and Sherlock kissing in the kitchen of 221b Baker Street.*