My adoptive parents weren't miffed that I was flying down to London to visit the Holmes' residence. I made sure to spend an early Christmas with them before I went away. I didn't think to get anyone gifts. I was an awful person, failing at the tradition of gift giving. I couldn't set aside one day of my life to think about getting things for people that they would actually want.

Let me tell you, when Christmas came and I was introduced to the Holmes parents, I was stunned. They were ordinary people; I couldn't lie or joke about this. It was hard to figure out how Sherlock and Mycroft turned out they way they did.

Mrs. Holmes fell in love with me and couldn't stop gushing over how John Watson had a daughter. Mr. Holmes was just as nice as his wife and a bit of a jokester. He did seem to be a bit of an oddball, but it was a good kind. I still couldn't understand how their children became what they were.

The kitchen was cluttered, which was where I was primarily. I didn't want to be in the same room with Mary, who was in another room reading, I think. Her distended belly told me she didn't have many months left until the baby was born. Had that much time passed already? It was like just yesterday I learned she was pregnant.

Being in the kitchen was no better, as the Holmes brothers were in with me. Mycroft seemed to be a Scrooge and hate Christmas, whining about it.

"Oh, dear God, it's only two o'clock," he moaned. "It's been Christmas Day for at least a week now."

I snorted. Drama queen. Must run in the family.

"How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony."

I stole a glance at Sherlock, who was looking over the front page of a newspaper. Curious, I peeked over his shoulder. The headline "Lord Smallwood suicide" caught my eye. I vaguely remembered the name Smallwood. It didn't hold any importance to me.

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes demanded of her oldest son. I couldn't help but smile a little as I noticed Mycroft's laptop had become a coaster for peeled potatoes and the peelings.

"On which depends the security of the free world, yes, and you've got potatoes on it."

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important."

"Why are we doing this?" Mycroft gestured to the contents of the kitchen. "We never do this."

Mrs. Holmes leaned on the table, giving off a stern air. "We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy."

"Am I happy too? I haven't checked."

"Behave, Mike."

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

I couldn't imagine Mrs. Holmes dealing with her sons when they were teenagers. Even now I wondered how she put up with them after all these years. She had to have a gift. Anybody who could get along with and tolerate the Holmes brothers had a gift.

Huh, so I guess that was a good talent of mine.

"Mrs. Holmes?" a new voice asked.

I cringed, faintly remembering seeing Wiggy when I first got into the cottage. At least I was family; I didn't know where he fit into all this.

"Oh! Thank you, dear. Not absolutely sure why you're here."

"I invited him," Sherlock clarified.

I rolled my eyes. I should have expected that.

"I'm his protégé, Mrs. Holmes. When he dies, I get all his stuff and his job," Wiggy boasted.

"No." Sherlock and I happened to say it at the same time. We exchanged a look; I quickly diverted my eyes elsewhere.

"Oh. Well, I help out a bit."

"Closer," Sherlock muttered.

"If he does get murdered or something—"

"You should probably stop talking now."

"Okay."

"Lovely when you bring your friends around," Mycroft said.

Mrs. Holmes put down the glass she was holding. "Stop it, you. Somebody's put a bullet in my boy," I scooted out of her way, "and if I ever find out whom, I shall turn absolutely monstrous."

Oh the irony. I tried to picture Mrs. Holmes in a rage. It was hard to, but at the same time it wasn't. I hoped I never saw that side of her; I wanted to remember her as a sweet, friendly woman.

I figured I would go searching for my dad. As I left, Wiggy grabbed my arm. I ripped away from him.

"Oh, lighten up, it's the holidays," he crooned. "It's a shame there isn't mistletoe hanging above us."

"If you really think you'll get anywhere, keep trying. I'll ask my dad to break your arm instead of sprain it."

"Ouch. Quite a thorn, aren't you?"

I snorted, narrowing my eyes at him. "Look, I don't know why you're here, but I don't like it."

"What will you do? Kick me out?"

"I could try. Give me enough incentive and I just might."

"But it's Christmas." He put a glass of punch in my hand. I looked down at the drink suspiciously. "Oh come on, I didn't do anything to it."

"You know I don't believe you."

I investigated the Holmes' place, trying to find my dad. I hadn't anticipated the cottage to be so commodious. I could faintly hear voices from the other side of a door. They sounded like Dad and Mary's. I pressed my ear against the door, straining to hear them.

"I've thought long and hard about what I want to say to you," Dad said quietly. I held my breath. How long had it been since we all found out who Mary was? "These are prepared words, Mary. I've chosen these words with care."

I snickered. Dad had a hard time trying to get to the point.

"The problems of your past are your business. The problems of your future...are my privilege. It's all I have to say. It's all I need to know."

My mouth dropped. Dad was forgiving her?

"No, I didn't read it."

The flash drive. Whether he was telling the truth on that or not, nobody was sure except for him. It had to take a great deal of restraint on his part if he didn't actually look into Mary's past. I would have given in to temptation. But what if Bayley and I were in their position? Would I have still read the flash drive?

"You don't even know my name," Mary whimpered.

"Is 'Mary Watson' good enough for you?"

"Yes!" she sobbed. "Oh my God, yes."

"Then it's good enough for me, too."

I could hear Mary crying on the other end of the door. My heart swelled. Dad undoubtedly loved her with all his heart, even if her past was horrendous. I now felt idiotic. I hadn't talked to Bayley in months, not since the breakup. Even though he'd lied to me, I missed him.

Christmas was a time for miracles. Dad and Mary were okay now, and suddenly I wanted to try and get Bayley back before the window closed.

"All this does not mean that I'm not still basically pissed off with you," I heard Dad utter. I almost had to pop open the door to hear him.

"I know, I know."

"I am very pissed off, and it will come out now and then."

"I know, I know, I know." Mary sniffed.

"You can mow the sodding lawn from now on."

"I do mow the lawn."

"No, I do it loads."

"You really don't."

"I choose the baby's name," Dad bargained.

"Not a chance."

"Okay."

"I don't expect Rachel to forgive me so easily like you have. I'm sure she still hates me."

"She'll come around; she just may need a little more time."

"The poor girl, she's got to feel uncomfortable here."

"What makes you say that?"

"She came down here because you asked her to, and you kind of gave her no choice in the matter. She's here for you, John. She wants to spend time with you, because she hasn't been able to spend a holiday with you since you two found out you were related! I feel awful that here you are with me when you could be spending time with her. On another note, you realize that, er, Sherlock got us out here to see his mum and dad for a reason?"

"His lovely mum and dad," Dad noted. "A fine example of married life. I get that. That's the thing with Sherlock—it's always the unexpected with him." Silence met my ears. "Oi. Mary? Jesus Christ. Mary? Sit down."

The panic in his voice made me burst open the door. Dad didn't notice I even came in the room; he hovered over Mary, who looked to be out in the armchair. Heat warmed up one side of me from the fireplace.

"Mary, can you hear me?" Dad was trying to get her up.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't know. She just...went out."

I crossed the room to look over Mary. She was out cold, like something had hit her full force. She couldn't have just fainted...

"Don't drink Mary's tea," Sherlock said suddenly, coming in before stopping to stare at me. His eyes went from the glass in my hand back to my face before he sauntered out. Dad and I were confused. "Oh, or the punch."

I looked down at my drink. I knew something was up.

"Sherlock?" I barked, thundering after him. I gasped, noticing Mrs. Holmes was knocked out in a chair in the kitchen as was Mycroft—his head was down on the table. Wiggy was the only one still standing in the kitchen. My jaw locked. "So that was your purpose," I realized. "Sherlock brought you here to drug people? You wanted me to take this?" I shoved the glass in his face. "Unbelievable. Even Christmas can't be a normal day!"

"Sherlock!" Dad called. He came to stand by me in the kitchen. "Did you just drug my pregnant wife?"

"Don't worry," he replied, checking Mycroft out. "Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I calculated your wife's dose meself," Wiggy said proudly. "Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on 'er."

"He'll monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job." Sherlock started to wrap his blue scarf around his neck.

"What the hell have you done?" I growled.

It took a long while for Sherlock to reply. "A deal with the devil."

Dad and I exchanged a look. The only devil I knew of was Moriarty, and he was long gone. My mind went to the shark, Charles Magnussen. Oh God, Sherlock, just what did you do?

"Oh, Jesus," Dad said softly. I heard him disappear into another room. "Sherlock, please tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind."

Sherlock stole Mycroft's laptop out from under his sleeping form. "I'd rather keep you guessing." I was about ready to go off on Sherlock, but a low thundering noise cut me off. It sounded like a helicopter. Sherlock looked upwards. "Ah, there's our lift. Make sure she stays here."

"Hey, wait a second!" I set down the glass I'd been holding and trailed after Sherlock, only to be caught by Wiggy. I whipped around, not messing around. "You better let me go, now."

"He told me to—"

"You think I care?" I pulled myself out of his grasp. Dad brushed past me, only to spin around when he noticed my situation. "Dad, you have to let me go."

"If this involves Magnussen, no," he said firmly. "He's seen you once, and once is more than enough."

"Dad, please."

"It's for the best, Rachel. We'll come back, I promise. Stay here and help him watch over everyone."

"But, Dad—" The rest of my complaint was cut off as Dad went out of the Holmes' cottage with Sherlock right behind him. I made an irritated noise.

Wait a minute, Wiggy is only a stick. He's not much bigger than me. With some hard pulling, I managed to escape out the door after Dad and Sherlock before Wiggy could restrain me.

The air was a bit nippy, and there was wind thanks to the helicopter landing in the field in front of the cottage. I passed through the gate, feeling a small dose of adrenaline run in my system. They were about halfway to the helicopter. I started running after them.

"Wait!" I yelled. This caught Dad's attention, Sherlock kept on walking.

"Rachel? What the hell do you think you're doing?" He had to shout over the wind too.

"I'm going."

"We've been through this already; you're staying here, where it's safe."

"Dad, I am not a child! I'm twenty-four. Don't play the father card on me. Don't make me a damsel in distress, because I'm not. I appreciate the protection, but I don't need it."

"John?" Sherlock yelled.

I stole a look to see him waiting at the helicopter already. "I'm not going back in the house," I said stubbornly. "Take me with you."

Dad looked at Sherlock before looking at me. He sighed. "Alright, but don't say that I didn't warn you."

With that situation settled, Dad and I walked side by side to the helicopter. Sherlock was already climbing in and didn't look happy when he noticed I was coming along for the ride.

"Where are we heading?" I asked.

"Appledore."