Updated as of 12/31/16
White fairy lights twinkled and bits of tinsel shimmered among the ornaments on the Christmas tree. John smiled. He'd done a bang up job. He sat back in his chair by the fire, stomach pleasantly full from Christmas dinner. What a spread. Mrs. Hudson's chestnut stuffed turkey, Lestrade's brussel sprouts with bacon, and Molly's roasted potatoes. He and Sherlock had contributed sausages and a few mince pies. Not as good as home-made, but neither of them were skilled cooks, or at least if Sherlock was, he refused to bother.
Sherlock finished playing a rousing rendition of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' on his violin, and everyone applauded.
"That was wonderful," Mrs. Hudson said, cheeks pink.
"Just lovely," Molly agreed.
John's mobile chimed.
Sorry! Nearly there.
"She's almost here," John called over to Sherlock. Vivian had texted him earlier saying she'd be late to the party. He'd begun to wonder whether she would show at all.
Sherlock's hand slowed as he ran a dry cloth over his violin strings, but he made no reply.
"Someone else is coming?" Molly turned to face John, ponytail bobbing.
"Yes, Vivian Walker, a friend of ours. We met her during a case," John said.
Mrs. Hudson frowned. "Wasn't she the woman who drugged her husband's tea?"
John laughed. "No, that was Valerie Cooper. Vivian is the one who walloped a murderer in the face with her cast."
"Oh, that's right. I remember now."
"It was a hell of shot," Lestrade said, grinning. "She knocked Renee's front tooth loose."
Mrs. Hudson set her hands on her hips. "Well, from what John told me, that awful woman deserved it."
"And you invited her here?" Molly asked.
"Yes. She hasn't got any family, and she was kind enough to treat us to dinner last night."
"Oh." Molly worried the hem of her jumper, and cast a furtive look at Sherlock who was busy settling his violin back in its case.
Right. Time for a drink. John stood and went into the kitchen. Steam rose from a pot of simmering ruby liquid. He ladled the mulled wine into a mug. Cinnamon, cloves, and honey scented the air.
"She's young and pretty, isn't she?"
Molly had followed him. She wound a bit of loose yarn from the cuff of her jumper around one finger, eyes refusing to meet his. John pursed his lips. So. Definitely still carrying a torch for Sherlock, then. That took both commitment and terrible taste in men.
"She's thirty-three." As to the second half of Molly's question, well, there was really no safe way to answer it. It wasn't as if he could lie and say Vivian was repulsive since Molly would find out for herself soon enough. And as far as telling the truth went, well, he seriously doubted Molly really wanted to know. Or did she? Women were confusing.
"It makes sense now," Molly said, pulling the yarn taut. "Sherlock kept sneaking glances out the window and checking the time like he was waiting for something. But he's been waiting for her, hasn't he?"
John hadn't noticed anything, but he hadn't been watching Sherlock, certainly not as closely as Molly. He handed her the glass of mulled wine since it was clear she needed it more than he did. "Look, Sherlock might have been keeping an eye out for her, but you know he's not into that sort of thing."
"Not with me."
He touched her elbow. "Not with anyone. He's happily married to his work, I promise you. There's no need to worry."
Molly blew out a breath. "You're right. I'm being silly." She shook her head and took a large swallow of wine. "Must be the holiday."
"Christmas makes everyone barmy. My sister dressed her pet rabbit up like an elf this year, complete with fairy lights and bells." John pulled a face. "Poor little Carrot."
Molly giggled.
A triple knock carried through the flat.
John patted Molly's shoulder and left the kitchen to open the front door, but Sherlock sped past him and beat him to it. Vivian stood there with snowflakes in her red hair, and a tentative smile on her face. She cradled a large white box in her arms. "Hello."
"You're late," Sherlock said.
A grimace. "Sorry. Traffic was dreadful, and I had to make a stop. I wasn't about to come here empty-handed."
Sherlock frowned. "John didn't ask you to bring anything."
"Oh for goodness sake, let the poor girl inside," Mrs. Hudson said.
Sherlock stepped aside and allowed her to enter, taking the offered box from her hands.
"Glad you finally made it," John said, giving her a hug. He helped remove her coat, revealing a burgundy blouse with a sprig of holly pinned to it.
Sherlock eyed her feet. "You wore heels. In the snow."
"What? They're low heels, and I took a cab. I only had to walk across a bit of pavement out front."
"That same pavement sent the last Speedy's patron to hospital with a broken hip yesterday."
Hang on. Was Sherlock actually worried about her? John studied his friend's face, but it was difficult to see anything beneath the thick layer of ego.
"Well, I managed to survive, hip intact, thank you." Vivian wiggled a foot. "Besides, I like these shoes. They're festive."
They were. Red and white stripes lined them like candy canes.
"I think they're lovely." Mrs. Hudson stepped forward, hands outstretched. "You must be Vivian."
She took them and smiled. "And you must be Mrs. Hudson."
"John's told me all about you."
"Has he now?"
Mrs. Hudson patted her cheek. "Not to worry, dear. Only good things." She disappeared into the kitchen, likely to fetch their new guest a nibble.
Sherlock smirked at Vivian. "Clearly, John hasn't told her anything at all."
"Yes, I have. It's just been a bit edited," John said.
Vivian chuckled. "That's probably for the best."
A cheerful Lestrade sauntered over and held out a steaming mug. "Hello. Something to warm you up?"
Vivian accepted it gratefully. "Good to see you again, Greg." She took a sip, then beamed at him. "This is like Christmas in a cup! Did you make it?"
Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "Yeah, I did actually."
"It's brilliant."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "He followed his grandmother's recipe. It's not like he harvested the grapes and fermented the wine."
"Oi, shut it. You don't even make your own tea," Lestrade said.
"That's because Mrs. Hudson makes it."
John guided Vivian away from the squabble and over to the fireplace where Molly had retreated. "Allow me to introduce you to Molly Hooper."
"Hello. I hadn't heard a thing about you until a few minutes ago," Molly said.
A short laugh. "Well, that's a relief. There are far more interesting subjects." Vivian held out her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."
Molly took it and nodded, though the usual warmth in her kind eyes was absent. Apparently, any reassurance she'd acquired in the kitchen had evaporated upon Vivian's arrival.
John cleared his throat. "Molly is the head pathologist at St. Bart's."
"Wow. You must be quite smart to have acquired the position at such a young age."
Molly's cool expression thawed slightly. "It became available when the previous pathologist died of a heart attack." She paused, lips curving. "Sherlock beat his corpse with a riding crop."
Vivian's mouth fell open. "You're joking."
Triumph flashed in Molly's eyes, and her tone grew downright cheerful. "Not at all. Sherlock loves experimenting on corpses. He's always after me for body parts. Thumbs, heads, hearts. John had to designate a special shelf in the fridge for him here."
John sighed. He knew what Molly was trying to do. It was both unnecessary and unlikely to work.
"Is she serious?" Vivian asked him.
"While it's all true, it's not really the best topic right after Christmas dinner, is it?" John said.
Vivian shot a startled glance at Sherlock who was unwrapping a gift Lestrade had handed to him. The surprised expression on her face turned thoughtful. She looked back at Molly, and the corner of her mouth quirked. "Interesting. I'll have to ask him about his experiments sometime."
Molly's smile disappeared.
Right. So that hadn't gone to plan for her, not that John had expected it would.
Mrs. Hudson waved them over to the kitchen. "I warmed up a plate for you, dear."
Vivian took the offered food and dug into it with relish. "Thanks very much. This is gorgeous."
Lestrade tapped the white box Sherlock had taken from Vivian and set on the kitchen table earlier. "What's inside?"
"Freshly baked pastries imported from France. Chocolate croissants, judging by the fragrance," Sherlock said.
"Did you peek?" Vivian asked, eyes narrowed.
"As if I needed to. It's obvious."
It wasn't obvious to John. The box was completely blank, and he couldn't smell a thing except for the warm spices from the mulled wine.
Vivian speared a slice of turkey with her fork and jabbed it at Sherlock. "You must be a terrible person to give Christmas gifts to."
"You have no idea," John said. "One year I glued a gift card to a brick, and Sherlock still guessed it correctly." The git.
"I assure you, there was no guessing involved."
Snickering, Vivian opened the box and folded back the white tissue, revealing large, golden croissants. Dark chocolate oozed out the ends of the pastries.
Mrs. Hudson touched one and gasped. "How are they still warm?"
"Heating packs." Sherlock pointed at the thick padding bordering the inside of the box.
"Yes, thank God for those. The package got here late because of the weather. I was afraid it wasn't going arrive at all."
John stared at the scrumptious, flaky treats. "And they came all the way from France? That must have cost a fortune."
Vivian shrugged and gave him a small smile. "Every Christmas, no matter where I am, I order a box of these. A bit of a splurge, but well worth it. I certainly don't mind sharing them. Much better for my waistline."
John's heart twinged. No one should ever have to spend Christmas alone.
Her hand hovered above the open box. "Would any of you like one?"
A chorus of agreement followed, though Molly declined.
While Vivian handed them out, John moved his and Sherlock's chairs and one additional chair over to the coffee table in the living room, creating a rough oval shape with the sofa. Everyone settled in to enjoy their treat.
John took a bite of croissant, and the soft, buttery pastry gave way to warm, gooey chocolate. Sweet, but with just a hint of bitterness. "This is fantastic."
"Much better than the ones at work," Lestrade said around a mouthful.
Even Sherlock appeared to enjoy his as not a single crumb was left on his plate.
After everyone finished eating, Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands. "Right. Let's open our Christmas crackers." She passed around the brightly wrapped tubes. "Cross arms with the person next to you, and let's open them up."
Sharp pops like miniature firecrackers filled the air, and out came the gold paper crowns. Everyone put them on their heads, that is, everyone except for Sherlock, who flatly refused to play along. Every Christmas they tried to persuade, pester, and bargain with him to get him to wear the ruddy crown, but nothing had ever worked. A few years ago, they'd started a secret wager on who would finally manage it, but this year was the same as all the others, and they conceded defeat.
Vivian stacked Sherlock's crown on top of hers.
"You look like an idiot," Sherlock said, though the amusement on his face stole most of the sting from the words.
Her eyes narrowed. "Funny. You sound like one."
John laughed and raised his glass to her in salute.
Tossing a wink at him, Vivian rose from the sofa and gathered the empty plates and returned them to the kitchen. On her way back to her seat, she tiptoed up behind Sherlock with an impish smile. John held his breath as she took the extra crown and carefully held it above Sherlock's head. Ever so slowly, she began to lower it. Lestrade did his best not to react, while Mrs. Hudson masterfully continued her conversation with Molly as if nothing was amiss. Right before it could touch his hair, Sherlock's arms flew up, and he caught both her wrists. He tilted his head back to look at her. "You couldn't have been more obvious."
Vivian grinned down at him. "I'll have to try harder then."
He studied her for a moment. "You're not going to give up, are you?"
"You are observant. You should be a detective."
"Best just surrender now, Sherlock," Lestrade called out with a chuckle.
Vivian waggled her eyebrows, smile playful. "What's it going to be, Mr. Holmes? The easy way or the hard way?"
Sherlock gave a long-suffering sigh. Then to John's complete amazement, he released Vivian, and murmured, "Go on, then."
Her face lit up in shocked delight, and she settled the crown onto his head. The room erupted into a chorus of cheers and laughter.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "This is ridiculous."
"No, this is historic," John said, gasping, trying to hold his arm still long enough to take a photo with his mobile. This was going on the blog.
"And hysterical," Mrs. Hudson added, wiping at her eyes.
"Promise me you'll come back next Christmas," Lestrade said to Vivian, slapping his leg in glee.
John's mirth faded when he caught sight of Molly's pinched expression. She looked like she wanted to perform a live autopsy on Vivian. "Right, let's not forget the toys in our crackers." Hopefully there was nothing sharp in Molly's.
Tissue flew and they all examined the cheap toys hidden inside. John got a key chain, Molly a bookmark, Mrs. Hudson a paperweight, Lestrade a pair of dice, Vivian a magnifying glass, and Sherlock a bracelet.
"Here." Sherlock offered it to Vivian.
She smiled and slipped the bangle onto her wrist. "Cheers."
He reached for her plastic magnifying glass, but she snatched it away. "Oi, I didn't say I'd trade."
"Fine. The one I own is better quality anyhow."
"Good." Vivian examined the wood grain of the coffee table with her new toy. "I haven't had one of these in ages. I used to burn ants in the garden with it."
"That's barbaric," Molly muttered.
John snickered. He used to do the same thing.
Mrs. Hudson removed a slip of paper from her Christmas Cracker. "Joke time!" She nodded at Vivian. "Why don't you go first, dear?"
Sherlock rose to his feet, crumpled tissue in one hand. "Let's forget the jokes."
Lestrade frowned. "But we do them every year."
"Yes, and this year I wore the stupid crown. It's a fair trade." Sherlock shot John a pointed look. "I doubt Vivian would enjoy reading the jokes. I certainly don't enjoy hearing them."
John blinked at the odd phrasing. Then it hit him, and he had the overwhelming urge to stick his head in the oven, or perhaps crawl inside it. He'd completely forgotten about Vivian's reading disability. My God. He was a moron. And Sherlock of all people had been the one to anticipate the problem and try to fix it. He cleared his throat. "I agree with Sherlock. They're rather silly. Let's skip it."
Mrs. Hudson's face fell. "I don't understand. You love the jokes."
His stomach twisted. "Yes, well-"
"Perhaps he's maturing." Sherlock reached for the crackers on the coffee table, but Vivian laid a hand on his arm. "It's alright. No need to make a fuss. We can do the jokes."
Sherlock eyed her for a moment, then drew back, resuming his seat. "Fine. The sooner it's over, the better."
Mrs. Hudson was all smiles once again. "I knew you wouldn't let these two Grinches ruin our Christmas."
Vivian unrolled the slip of paper inside her cracker, then shot a small grin at the group. "I actually don't mind punny jokes, as long as it's only once a year."
John stared at her. How was she going to read it?
Her eyes flicked across the paper, then she looked up. "What did Santa say to the smoker?"
"I've no idea," Lestrade said, already grinning.
"What'd he say?" Mrs. Hudson asked.
"Please don't smoke; it's bad for my elf."
Mrs. Hudson giggled, and Lestrade groaned.
John chuckled through his surprise. How had she done it?
Vivian set the slip of paper onto the coffee table. "Who's next?"
The rest of the jokes were just as bad as Vivian's, if not worse. Right as they finished the last one, John's mobile buzzed.
I managed to catch an earlier flight, love. The pilot made it through a gap in the storm. Come meet me and head back to my place?
John's heart leapt.
On my way.
He stood, warmth filling him at the thought of spending the rest of the holiday with her. "Abigail is back early. I'd best head out now before the weather worsens." John hugged Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Vivian and nodded to Lestrade and Sherlock. "Happy Christmas, everyone." He grabbed his coat and overnight bag, and headed out the door.
***
Sherlock looked up from adjusting the new microscope lens John had given him for Christmas. The tendons in his neck twinged, and he tilted his head back. Quiet reigned throughout the flat. It appeared everyone had gone home. Not that he minded. Goodbyes were tedious.
He checked his watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. He stood from the kitchen table and stretched, then walked into the living room.
He stopped and stared.
Vivian sat on the sofa, a line etched between her brows as she fiddled with the Rubik's cube Lestrade had gifted him earlier. Realizing anything average would have held little challenge for him, Lestrade had purchased a special version. This one had LED squares. When different parts of the cube were twisted, the grid colors changed.
Vivian shifted one face of the cube, and a side that had matched, suddenly morphed. "Bloody hell."
He held out a hand. "Give it here."
She heaved a sigh and passed it over to him. "It's driving me mad."
He rotated each row and column, noting how the colors changed. "Twenty face turns are required at most to solve a normal cube. This one is more complex." Each quarter turn shifted the LED lights. Despite this seemingly erratic element, there was a discernible pattern. He turned each section this way and that, and with a final twist of his wrist, the Rubik's cube sides all matched. The lights on it brightened for a moment, then the cube went dark.
A disbelieving laugh. "I've been at that for over an hour."
He tossed it up in the air and caught it. "Solving it required a simple application of Korf's algorithm."
"Simple. Right." She stood, grabbed her coat off the hook and slipped it on. "At least I can go to sleep now knowing it's complete."
He nodded. There was nothing worse than an unfinished puzzle. He followed her to the door.
She wound her scarf around her neck. "Thank you for tonight."
His grip tightened on the cube. It wasn't as if he'd invited her. "That was John's doing, not mine."
"You could have said no."
"I saw no reason to. And as expected, your presence here didn't negatively impact the evening's events."
"Are you sure? I did make you wear the paper crown," she said with a teasing smile.
"Nobody makes me do anything," he said, voice firm. He tossed the Rubik's cube to the side, and it landed on the coffee table among the party debris. "A bet has been going on for years about who would be the one to finally get me to wear it. This way nobody won."
"Clever."
"I always am."
"Modest, too." She shook her head. "While I know you weren't the one who invited me, you still allowed me into your home and made me feel welcome here. It's been a long time since I spent the holiday with anyone. Tonight was really lovely. So, thanks."
It hadn't been that long since Sherlock had been alone himself. The lack of crime during the holidays had bothered him more back then, the itching feeling of wanting to be busy nearly intolerable when paired with the hollow silence of his old flat. He found himself grateful for what he had now. "You're welcome. I'm certain you'll receive an invitation again next year."
She beamed at him. "Happy Christmas, Sherlock."
His mouth curved of its own accord. "Happy Christmas."
Then the power went out.
He blinked. Somehow Vivian's smile was still imprinted on his retinas like the after burn from ignited magnesium. The only illumination now came from the gas fire, a living flicker of gold and yellow against the walls.
"Well, that was unexpected," she said.
"Yes." Even he couldn't have anticipated the power outage.
The loss of light heightened his other senses, and the sweet scent of jasmine teased his nose. Vivian's perfume. An unsettling sensation squirmed in his stomach. He shouldn't have eaten that second chocolate croissant earlier. He grabbed his torch from the pocket of his coat where it hung from the hook. Flicking on the light, he opened the door. "I'll follow you out and flip the breaker."
They made their way downstairs, and she waited while he opened the electrical box near the entryway. He flipped the switch. Nothing happened.
"That's not good," she said.
"Like John, you have a gift for stating the obvious." He walked past her and opened the outside door. Icy wind buffeted him, sending a flurry of snowflakes into his face.
"Oh," Vivian breathed from beside him.
The few cars that had been parked along the road were now misshapen blobs. Heaping piles of snow covered the ground. The city that never slept stretched dark and cold before them.
"It's so quiet," Vivian whispered. "I don't even hear any buzzing."
Buzzing? He never heard any buzzing. "With the electricity out, the tube will be down. And no cabbie is going to risk driving the streets in this weather. Come back inside. I've got a battery-powered wireless. They'll be broadcasting a report."
She followed him back upstairs and into the flat.
He brought the wireless into the living room, turned it on, and cycled through the stations.
"This is the emergency alert system. A National Grid failure has affected Central London and the surrounding areas. Both rail services and the underground are inoperable at this time. Please remain inside and stay off the roads. More updates to follow," a computerized voice said. The message repeated.
Vivian hung her coat and scarf on the hook. "I guess you'll have to put up with me for a bit longer, then."
Sherlock shrugged. "At least it's only you."
A flash of white teeth. "Compliment?"
"Never."
"Just for that, I'm going to steal your seat." She plopped down in his leather chair in front of the fire.
His eyes narrowed. "What if I were to offer you tea?"
Vivian scoffed. "Please. You're going to have to do better than that."
"How about the last of Mrs. Hudson's ginger biscuits?" John had thought he was being sneaky when he'd squirreled them away beneath the kitchen sink.
Although shadows danced across her face, they weren't enough to hide her elated expression. "Deal." She switched to John's seat.
He shook his head. "You're far too easy."
She gaped at him, then burst into laughter, her merriment bright and unfettered. "You are the first man to ever say that to me."
He took a step back, uncertain of how to respond. Women were odd. "I'll go make tea."
When he returned to the living room, tray in hand, she'd slid to the floor, her back against the front of John's chair, bare feet stretched out toward the fire.
He handed her a teacup, and her expression turned wary.
"What? You don't trust me?"
"No, not really." She sniffed at it, and startled green eyes met his. "There's whisky in this."
"Yes, a hot toddy is known to contain alcohol. What else have I put in it?"
Her nose dipped down. "Lemon, cinnamon, and honey." She paused, brow furrowed. "And a touch of cloves?"
Impressive. "Yes. Rest assured the level of sweetness is the equivalent to one sugar cube." He hadn't realized he'd kept her preference in his Mind Palace until he'd gone to make the tea. Useless information, really. He should delete it.
She took a swallow, then smiled. "Thanks, it's very good. Especially considering you don't ever make your own tea."
"I have a Master's degree in chemistry. Tea is child's play." He sipped at his own drink, and the whisky sent a trail of warmth through his chest.
A ginger biscuit disappeared past Vivian's lips, and she let out a happy hum. Her bare toes curled, kneading into the carpet like a satisfied cat. He wondered what food might make her purr. Heat crawled up the back of his neck and around his throat, and he tugged at the front of his shirt. Looking away from her, he forcibly removed the irrational thought from his mind.
After polishing off another biscuit, she glanced over at him. "I usually clean house around this time." She tapped the side of her temple. "Do you mind?"
"Of course not. Mind Palace maintenance is important." He was pleased she was making it a priority.
Once her eyes fluttered shut, he reached for the latest issue of New Science.
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@ValeriaZitzelsberger made this amazing drawing of Sherlock and Vivian! I had to share it! Isn't it brilliant?