“John!” His mom said happily, crushing him in a bone breaking hug.
“Hi mom, dad.” John said, setting his bags down to give her a proper hug. He hugged his dad and smiled sarcastically at Harry, who scowled at him.
“You must be Sherlock.” Mrs. Watson said.
“Yes.” Sherlock said, setting the owl cage down and offering a hand to shake. Instead Mrs. Watson gave him a hug too, which Sherlock awkwardly returned, but over her shoulder he was looking at John for help.
“Mom, come on, you just met him, don’t go chasing him away.” John said, annoyed yet amused at the horrified look on Sherlock’s face.
“So you guys just met this year?” Mr. Watson asked.
“Ya, in potions class.” John said quickly, which wasn’t a lie.
“What house are you in sweetie?” Mrs. Watson asked.
“Ravenclaw.” Sherlock answered, which wasn’t a lie also.
“Well it’s very nice to meet you.” Mrs. Watson assured, ruffling her son’s hair, and offering to help with all of their luggage. They passed through the barrier and appeared in muggle world, were they could only spot a few wizards among the crowd. Muggles always amused John, how they could see a whole bunch of people with owls and robes and not get the least bit suspicious was beyond him, they were so oblivious to the world around them, but it was for the best apparently. If muggles knew of the existence of wizards, the Wizarding world would be flooded with pathetic muggles asking for magical answers for everything, and it would just be too much. They walked to the family car, which was a small, regular sized car, which was a bit difficult with their entire luggage. Mr. Watson was trying to cram John’s trunk in with Sherlock’s while the two owls still had to be put in.
“Allow me.” Sherlock said, gently pushing him out of the way and tapping the car with his wand. Immediately the inside of the trunk fit the two trunks and owls perfectly, with room to spare. Sherlock smiled kindly as Mr. Watson, awestruck, looked underneath the car to see where the extra space came from.
“Amazing!” He exclaimed.
“Come on Andy, we don’t have all day!” Mrs. Watson called from the passenger seat.
“Coming dear!” He called, and put his fingers to his lips. “Don’t tell your mother, she doesn’t like to use magic around the house.” He whispered to the two boys. They nodded obediently and John climbed into the backseat, where Harry was already sitting, texting away on her phone. John sat squished between Harry, who he tried to keep a distance from, and Sherlock, who he didn’t mind sharing personal space with.
“Harry dear, put the phone away and talk!” Mrs. Watson pleaded. Harry rolled her eyes, but clicked her phone off.
“So, you go to Hogywarts too?” She asked Sherlock, trying to make it as obvious as possible that she didn’t care.
“Yes.” He said, trying to sound interested in the conversation, but John knew he didn’t care either, he hated conversation.
“It’s Hogwarts.” John corrected. Harry rolled her eyes.
“So what did you do to deserve to hang out with my brother, probably something bad.” Harry guessed. Sherlock’s fists clenched, like he wanted to tell her how much he loved John, how nothing in the world was better than having him notice him.
“We simply met in potions.” Sherlock said. John tapped his foot under the car seat, not looking at him, but trying to tell him to calm down telepathically.
“Do you have a friend coming over? Maybe Clara?” John asked, even though he couldn’t stand the sight of Clara.
“I don’t know, is she?” Harry asked hopefully.
“If she’s allowed to honey, this is a special situation.”
“Why is this special? Just because they both go to some school for freaks!” Harry hissed.
“You’re just jealous you’re still learning algebra!” John defended.
“At least I’m not practicing magic!”
“You’re just a muggle, you couldn’t even if you tried!”
“Like I’d want to fit into your little cult!” Harry growled.
“Hey! Stop fighting back there or I will pull this car over!” Mr. Watson threatened, making John and Harry go silent. “We have a guest, and this is a horrible first impression!”
“With all due respect, this is much better than sitting in the castle alone.” Sherlock pointed out.
“No, this is a bad representation of our family, they’re kids, you know how they are.”
“I am a mature adult, not a kid!” Harry yelled.
“You’re 19 Harry, not an adult.” Mr. Watson pointed out.
“I can vote and 18 is the legal age!”
“Once you move out you are an adult and you still won’t use that phone to look for a college!” Mr. Watson hissed.
“Everyone just be quiet!” Mrs. Watson shrieked, making everyone shut their mouths immediately.
“Now, Sherlock, tell me, how are you liking seventh year in Hogwarts?” she asked.
“Oh, well I actually,” Sherlock paused, remembering that he was supposed to be in John’s grade. “Love it; it’s so much better than sixth year, except for the NEWTS of course.” Sherlock said his voice calm and smooth after covering up the slight lie.
“I heard those tests were going to be rubbish, I wish you the best of luck dear.” She said.
“Thank you Mrs. Watson.” Sherlock said. John glanced at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, who looked down at him with uncertainty. John gave him a slight reassuring smile, to tell him that he was doing a good job.
“How about you John, do you think you understand everything?”
“Yes, but I’m missing a couple of weeks information.” John shrugged.
“Oh yes, I heard about that, so lucky that memory spell was deflected, who was it that saved my little boy anyway?” she asked.
“It was me actually.” Sherlock said, a bit awkwardly.
“Really? Well thank you so much, without you, John would never remember any of us, he’d never be the same person!”
“I couldn’t imagine what that would’ve put you through.” Sherlock said.
“Well didn’t you guys just meet that year, and he only lost a year of information, he would’ve forgotten you wouldn’t he?” Mr. Watson asked. Logic kills everything apparently. Sherlock looked at his feet with a sudden sadness, filling the car with awkward silence.
“Yes.” Sherlock muttered. Mr. and Mrs. Watson exchanged glances, but went right back to looking at the road immediately, as if nothing had happened.
“Well, I’m glad you two met each other again.” Mrs. Watson said with a smile.
“Ya, me too.” John agreed. The car pulled into the driveway of the small house, but John was so happy to be home it looked like another castle. Even though he didn’t remember leaving, he always missed his own house, his own bed, and his annoying terrier Coco, who was barking in the window already. Sherlock climbed out of the car, and on his feet he was taller than the car, which must be pretty dreadful to sit in. John followed him out, stretching and enjoying his free space from Harry.
“I’ve got this honey, you go on in.” Mr. Watson assured, shielding the newly enlarged trunk from his wife, who was insisting on helping.
“I just have no idea how you managed to cram that stuff in.” Mrs. Watson said with amazement as she opened the front door, which was being attack by Coco. When the door opened, the brown and white dog raced through the flower beds and jumped onto John, barking and licking his hands with excitement.
“Hey Coco, yes, yes I missed you too.” John laughed, petting the dogs head with difficulty as if tried to scramble around. He lost interest in John and moved onto jump onto Sherlock, who backed up into the car with fright.
“John!” he cried with terror, trying to push the dog away.
“Don’t worry Sherlock, he won’t hurt you.” John assured, pulling Coco by the collar and leading him away to sniff at the owl cage on the ground. Jam hooted uncomfortably, moving away from the dog, whose tail was waging at supersonic speed.
“You’re scared of dogs?” Harry asked, looking at Sherlock over the screen of her phone.
“No, it just came, suddenly.” Sherlock assured.
“Sure.” She laughed. She curled the pink streak in her blonde hair as she scrolled through some sort of blog on her phone, walking into the house as Coco followed, yipping and chasing her feet. Mr. Watson carried the owls in after her, leaving just John and Sherlock outside in the driveway.
“Just get used to them, it takes a while, I know, but they are okay eventually.” John assured.
“I just don’t want to scare them away.” Sherlock said.
“You won’t, they already like you, don’t worry, I’m just worried they’ll scare you away.” John laughed, picking up the handle of his trunk in one hand and his broom in the other.
“As long as you’re here, I’ll stay.” Sherlock assured. John smiled, looking up into his beautiful green eyes, starting to lean in for a quick kiss, when the door opened again.
“You boys need any help?” Mr. Watson called.
“Coming!” John called, quickly putting distance between Sherlock and he, his dad didn’t think anything of it obviously, which John was thankful for. He pulled his trunk behind him over the stone walkway, which had only a small sprinkle of snow overtop, Sherlock following behind, his own trunk bouncing behind him. John opened the door with difficulty, but swinging it open just wide enough to squeeze in before the screen door came crashing down on his trunk.
“Good luck with that.” John laughed as Sherlock opened it with his free hand, trying his best to lift the trunk inside the door. The house smelled strongly of candles, which was no surprise because when guests are coming over, Mrs. Watson burns at least four. The floors were cleaned, the carpets swept, even the pictures on the walls were straitened, as if Sherlock was some type of royalty.
“Aw, is that you?” Sherlock laughed, looking at John’s kindergarten picture, which was framed on the wall. He was small and chubby, smiling widely even though his two front teeth were missing.
“Don’t look at that, come on.” John said, leading the way to the living room where his mom had set out a tray of crackers and cheese. Sherlock looked around, but there wasn’t much to see, just a couch, a couple of chairs, and a large flat screen TV, which had fascinated John before. “Follow me.” John instructed, walking to the stair case in the other room. He hauled his trunk up the steps, thankful for the extra quidditch muscles. He looked behind him to see Sherlock calmly guiding a floating trunk up the steps, his wand out. John groaned, wondering how he didn’t think of that, but it was too late now. He walked into his room, nothing special, with blue walls, white carpet, and a blue bedspread. There were famed pictures on his dresser of his family and friends, and books littering the bookshelf in the corner. A bin was filled with all of his basketballs, footballs, soccer balls, and baseballs, but everything was covered in a thin layer of dust from the last time he had been there. Sherlock followed him in, dropping his trunk to the floor.
“No, you’re in the room across the hall, the guest room, this is my room.” John protested.
“Oops.” Sherlock said, and rolled his trunk across the hall into the guest room. “Should I unpack or just live out of my suitcase?” he called.
“Whatever you want, it’s only a week.” John replied. Sherlock walked back over to John’s room, sitting on the bed with a huff, sending dust floating everywhere.
“So, home sweet home I guess.” John shrugged. Sherlock looked around, noticing the pictures. One of them moved, a picture of John, Greg, Mike, and Sara by the lake in third year, all in their robes, ready to go home for summer.
“When was this taken?” he asked.
“Third year.” John said.
“You look so young.” Sherlock laughed.
“Well, a lot changes in four years, I bet you don’t look the same as you do now.”
“I would rather die than dig up my baby pictures.” Sherlock said, shivering.
“Boys, come down, we have snacks!” Mrs. Watson called from down the steps.
“Welcome to the house, we faked everything, have snacks while we talk endlessly to you.” John mimicked with a disgusted tone.
“I don’t mind, really, it’s nice here.” Sherlock said.
“Well, I hope it you like it, don’t be afraid to share your complaints.” John said, leading the way back down to the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were sitting on the couch, while Harry, looking bitter, sat in an armchair, staring longingly at her phone, which sat on the end table near the couch, obviously confiscated. The cracker plate was still in the middle of the coffee table, but there was also a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses, plus useless little plates that no one used. There was only one armchair left, and John insisted Sherlock have it, so he was forced to sit next to his parents. He leaned over to the coffee table to get a cracker, munching halfheartedly on it.
“So, are Greg and them all going home for Christmas?” Mrs. Watson asked.
“Ya.” John said simply.
“I’m guessing you’re just part of the pack then right?” she asked Sherlock.
“Yes, I spend a lot of time in the Gryffindor common room.” Sherlock said which was true.
“Oh, I didn’t know other houses were allowed in the common rooms.”
“Well, I got in, so I guess it’s okay.” Sherlock shrugged.
“Is the Ravenclaw common room different than Gryffindor?” Mr. Watson asked. 
“Not really, different decorations, different kids, different location, but that’s about it.” Sherlock said.
“What house do you think Harry would be in?” Mrs. Watson asked. Harry seemed to come out of her own little dream land at the mention of her name.
“Slytherin.” John said immediately.
“Hey, you said that’s the house of all the jerks!” Harry defended.
“Exactly why it’s perfect for you.” John pointed out. Harry scowled at him, but John knew it was true.
“I honestly don’t know her well enough to pick a house.” Sherlock admitted.
“Well don’t get your hopes up.” John muttered. Sherlock gave him an amused glance, like saying, why would I want to anyway. John smiled, nodding once to say he agreed.
“I’m starving, it’s almost seven thirty, let’s eat.” John decided.
“We already ate dinner, but you two can eat some if you want.” Mrs. Watson offered.
“What is it?” John asked.
“Beef stew.” Mr. Watson answered, making John’s mouth water. That was his favorite childhood dinner; he used to eat bowls and bowls of it until he almost threw up.
“Sounds excellent.” Sherlock agreed. John couldn’t tell if he was acting the polite kid or that was actually just who he was, but he had a suspicion it was fake. Mrs. Watson got up to get some food, and a couple minutes later she came back with two bowls of hot stew, the steam rising into the air.
“No eating on the furniture dear, sorry, house rules.” She said. John got up and sat with his back to the coffee table, thankful for a reason to leave the couch with his parents. Sherlock came down and sat next to him, thankfully excepting the bowl of stew. John took his own bowl, which was still very hot to touch, so he set it on the floor next to him. He was very aware of Sherlock’s shoulder pressing against his, and he prayed his parents didn’t think anything of it.
“I’ll turn on the TV, any channel suggestions?” Mrs. Watson asked.
“I want to watch the next episode of Glee!” Harry insisted.
“No honey, we have a guest!” Mrs. Watson hissed.
“I don’t care what we watch.” Sherlock shrugged. Mrs. Watson turned on a show, some house buying show that made John cringe.
“Is this okay dear?”
“Fine.” Sherlock agreed. Harry groaned, sinking lower into the couch and begging them give her phone back. When they finally agreed, Harry scrambled to it faster than John had ever seen her move, collapsing back into the chair, but staring at the screen like she missed half of her life. John couldn’t wait for the stew to cool down; he ate a spoon full and nearly burned his tongue off, having to take a big sip of lemonade to cool down. Sherlock laughed at him, but John just rolled his eyes and ignored him. By the time the stew was cool enough to eat, John ate his bowl faster than humanly possible, going on to his second before Sherlock was even half finished. When he finally was too full to eat another bite, he had eaten three bowls of the delicious stew, when Sherlock only politely ate one.  
“You’re going to blow up.” Sherlock decided. Neither of the two moved off of the floor even though the food was long gone. The sun was completely down now, and the lamps provided the only light in the room, casting a warm, orangish glow and making the place seem so homey. When it was nine o’clock, John couldn’t take any more of how the people didn’t like this house, couldn’t afford this house, and loved this house, so he announced he was going to bed and walked quickly up to his room. Sherlock followed, after saying goodnight and thanking them for the food.
“Goodnight Sherlock, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” He teased before they split up to go to the separate rooms.
“If they do, I’ll just immobilize them.” Sherlock said with a taunting smile, opening his own door and walking in. John went into his own room, shutting the door behind him with a snap. The room was pitch black, so he turned on the bed side lamp to change into his pajamas. He made sure his wand was sitting on the bedside table before snuggling under the covers and pulling the lamp string, plunging the room into darkness yet again.

                When he woke up, it took a moment to remember where he was, it wasn’t the dorms, but his own room in his own house. He closed his eyes again, trying and failing to go back to sleep. When he lost the battle, he rolled over to see the clock, ten o’clock in the morning. He groaned, pulling himself out of his warm bed and into the cold air, pulling his robe on and stumbling downstairs. Sherlock was already sitting at the dining room table, in his dark purple shirt and coat, looking very dressy when everyone else was wearing their pajamas and robes. John yawned, plopping in the dining room chair next to Sherlock and looking at the breakfast. Mrs. Watson had cooked pancakes and bacon, which was sitting on platters in the middle of the table. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were having a discussion about the latest news, apparently there would be a new super market built around town, and they were very excited about that.
“I thought you’d never wake up.” Sherlock said, sitting with an empty plate.
“You know you don’t have to look fancy, it’s ten o’clock in a middle class home.” John said, loading pancakes onto his plate.
“This is all I have, and I won’t wear my pajamas around the house.”
“Don’t you have a pair of jeans or something?”
“My family doesn’t like jeans, they claim we always have to look our best because we never know who will show up. I don’t really mind though.” Sherlock said.
“Are you rich or something?” John asked.
“I guess you could say so.” Sherlock shrugged. John buttered his pancakes, drowning them in syrup and started to eat. Harry sat at the table, her hair a mess from sleep, eating her pancakes with a scowl.
“Today we’ll put the tree up, always a tradition to put it up the day before. Then we’ll go to church, and then it’s Christmas Eve!” Mrs. Watson said excitedly.
“Yay…” John moaned. It was also a family tradition to watch a cheesy Christmas movie on Christmas Eve, while eating cookies and singing Christmas songs. John hated the tradition, and his singing voice was dreadful, not to mention his mom’s voice. Once, a glass actually broke from their singing.
“Aren’t you going to eat dear, there’s plenty of food.” She asked Sherlock.
“I’m okay, I don’t eat much, thank you though.” Sherlock said with a smile.
“Do you have an eating disorder or something?” Harry asked, twirling the remainder of her pancakes in the puddle of syrup.
“Harry!” Mrs. Watson hissed.
“No, I just don’t need that much food.” Sherlock said simply. Harry looked at him funny before going back to eating.
“Well if you’re ever hungry, there is always food here.” Mrs. Watson assured. Sherlock nodded politely, but John knew it would be a miracle if he ate something other than a small plate of food today.
“Well, I’ll give everyone time to get ready, and when you’re done, we can get the tree started!” Mrs. Watson said excitedly. John groaned, but brought his now empty syrup filled plate to the sink to be washed by his mom, and walked upstairs to his room, Sherlock on his heels. When John had changed into his normal muggle clothes, a tee shirt and jeans, he let Sherlock in, who was waiting patiently outside the door. When he saw John, he froze, and took a moment to look his new outfit choice over.
“You look like a muggle.” He said, almost in fear.
“Well we have to look like muggles, if we walk around town like wizards people will talk.” John pointed out.
“They do little else.” Sherlock groaned. John went into the adjoining bathroom and started to do his best to brush his hair so it stayed down. Sherlock sat on the bed, resting his back against the headboard and kicking his feet up on the bed.
“Are you wearing dancing shoes?” John asked, taking a moment to realize Sherlock’s choice of footwear.
“No.” Sherlock said quickly, but he was smiling.
“Why wouldn’t you wear dance shoes around the house?”
“Because they’re comfortable.” Sherlock shrugged, wiggling his toes so the shoes moved.
“Well, I guess we both know you’re a good dancer.” John said with a smile, remembering the Yule Ball.
“I can’t say the same for you.” Sherlock laughed. John patted his hair down, brushed his teeth, and sat on the bed to put socks and shoes on. When he finished tying the last shoe, he sat there for a moment, just appreciating the time to sit down. With his family back in the picture, every moment was busy, and he barely got time to spend with Sherlock.
“You look sad.” Sherlock observed.
“I’m just thinking.” John said.
“About what?” Sherlock asked.
“Nothing.” John shrugged, which was true.
“I like it here, your family is very nice.” Sherlock decided.
“Except for Harry.” John pointed out.
“I can agree with that yes, but she’s a teenager, and that’s what they do, they sulk and scowl and look at their phones all day.” Sherlock shrugged.
“I’m glad you don’t do that.”
“I’d never do that, my phone sits in a pile of dust back home, not like I have anyone to talk to anyway.”
“Well, I could give you my number over the summer.” John offered.
“I prefer owl post.” Sherlock shrugged.
“True, but it takes so long.” John complained.
“But I feel like a muggle when I use my phone, and I don’t like that, my muggle days are behind me now, I’m a wizard.” Sherlock decided.
“We should probably go down now; mom will be taking pictures, so prepare yourself.” John warned. Sherlock groaned, but got up off of the bed and followed John downstairs. Mrs. Watson was playing around with the camera, making sure the batteries were working, while Harry pulled boxes of ornaments out of the crammed storage closet. Christmas music was playing out of the stereo, which was way too loud.
“Go help your father with the tree.” Mrs. Watson told them. John nodded and they went outside into the cold to find Mr. Watson struggling to pull a small Christmas tree out of the car. Pine needles were spraying everywhere; they already formed a carpet on the snow covered ground. Apparently it had snowed overnight, since the snow was about a foot deep.
“Let me help you with that Mr. Watson.” Sherlock offered.
“I wouldn’t want you to ruin those nice clothes, John how about you help?” Mr. Watson decided.
“I’ll just repair them with magic, it’s really no problem.” Sherlock assured, picking up the other end of the Christmas tree. Between the two of them they were able to carry the tree up the sidewalk to the door, which John so helpfully held open for them.
“Where do you want it?” Sherlock asked, since he was leading.
“Over there in the little rug.” Mr. Watson said, looking to a circular Christmas tree carpet with smiling reindeer and Santas on it. Sherlock looked at it and gave John an amused look before setting the tree down. Unfortunately for him though, the tree was too heavy for just him since Mr. Watson let go, and before it could stand up it fell onto of him, burying the poor wizard in the branches. John rushed to help even before anyone else could, which was a miracle since they were a lot closer. With their combined efforts, Sherlock and John were able to stand the Christmas tree up while Mr. Watson secured it with a Christmas tree stand. It took a while to get John to stop laughing, but when the tree was up, even though it had a lot of difficulty, it looked very pretty, and very good tree, but now the whole house was covered in pine needles. John looked at Sherlock and had to put every ounce of self-control he had into not laughing, Sherlock was covered in pine needles, sticking in his hair, clothes, and skin, making him look almost like another Christmas tree.
“Sherlock dear, stand in front of the tree with John and Andy, don’t brush off yet, I want a picture.” Mrs. Watson commanded, securing the wrist strap around her arm before she did anything. Sherlock reluctantly stood in front of the tree, between John and Mr. Watson. John smiled, but Sherlock looked relatively confused, like he didn’t know what was so memorable about the moment.
“You’re covered in pine needles.” John laughed. Sherlock brushed his clothes off the best he could, tried to rid his hair of any of the needles by rustling it, which took an effort for John not to stare. Even though he did his best, there were still a lot of stragglers. John helped by picking the remainder out of Sherlock’s hair, almost forgetting about his parent’s presence as he did so. When the dark curls were pine needle free, he looked into Sherlock’s eyes, a lighter green than the tree, but so much more beautiful. They sparkled with amusement, but there was always the sadness hidden the best he could in the back, a rough childhood, an unspoken trouble. John blinked and looked away, unaware of how long they had been gazing at each other, but for his parent’s sakes, he hoped it wasn’t long.
“Ornaments, Harry you almost ready?” Mrs. Watson said, turning to the closet where Harry was still fishing out small colorful boxes.
“No hurry though, it’s not like there is a ton of rubbish in here.” Harry groaned. Mrs. Watson came over to help, muttering something that John couldn’t hear.
“When this is all done, the tree always looks beautiful.” Mr. Watson said, looking at the tree now standing in the corner near the TV and the entry way to the kitchen.
“I bet, as long as I don’t get crushed again.” Sherlock laughed, picking a needle out of his sleeve and throwing it aside.
“We’ll clean all this up later.” Mr. Watson assured.
“Can’t we just use magic?” John complained.
“This is a regular home and we will carry on life like there is no such thing.” Mr. Watson said firmly, which made Sherlock slightly guilty of the wand in his pocket.
“Okay, everyone grab an ornament and start decorating!” Mrs. Watson said happily, just as ‘Jingle Bells’ played on the radio for the fourth time this morning. John grabbed a blue box, opening it to see several smiling snowmen on the ornament. They had way too many ornaments, and it was Mrs. Watson’s idea of fun to get family photos on some, so John could only pray Sherlock didn’t find some of those. He hung the snowmen in the middle of the tree, trying to space them all out, but in the end, there is barely a space left free. When they were done, the tree sparkled with the lights Mr. Watson had put on, and the tree did look beautiful.
“Now everyone get in front.” Mrs. Watson demanded. Harry, John, Sherlock and Mr. Watson all lined up in front of the tree. “Harry, smile.” “John, fix your hair, it’s sticking up.” “Look like you like each other, come on.” Mrs. Watson commanded.
“Mom, take the picture!” John demanded, trying his best to keep the happy smile on his face. The camera clicked with a blinding flash, and it would be a miracle if no one blinked. They did three more, one of John and Sherlock together, one of John and Harry for the Christmas card, and one of the entire Watson family, taken by Sherlock. When they were done, John was about to throw the camera out the window.
“Okay, we have a couple hours until church, do you all want to go outside and play in the snow?” Mrs. Watson asked.
“Mom, really, I’m 19, I don’t play in the snow anymore.” Harry said in a matter of fact, I know everything kind of voice. She blew and popped a bubble of gum.
“I’m perfectly fine here, thank you though.” Sherlock said with a polite smile.
“Well, feel free to do whatever you want, Harry, for your attitude, you can sweep up the pine needles.” Mrs. Watson decided.
“What attitude?!” Harry shrieked.
“Throughout the whole day you’ve been giving us nothing but problems, so clean up.” Mrs. Watson said.
“Mom I didn’t do anything!” she complained.
“Harriet Watson you will do what your mother says without complaining, now clean up!” Mr. Watson commanded. Harry screamed and stomped her foot on the floor, rattling the ornaments on the tree, but stormed off to get the broom.
“I’m sorry about that, she’s just angry.” Mrs. Watson said to Sherlock.
“It’s fine, I know how teenagers are.” He laughed. John looked at him, as if to say just because you’re an assistant professor doesn’t mean you’re still only 18. Sherlock smiled tauntingly at him, which only made John crack a smile back, he didn’t want to, but he kind of had to.
“I’ll make everyone hot chocolate and we can watch Rudolph.” Mrs. Watson decided. John groaned, sinking into the available armchair and making sure Sherlock got the other one, so Harry had to sit on the couch with the parents. For some reason it always amused John when Harry got mad, it was good entertainment. Mrs. Watson had made a special exception for hot chocolate on the furniture, and she turned off all the lights and turned on Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer even though they had all seen it a million times. The only light was coming from the TV and the window behind the couch, which made the whole experience a million times more annoyingly dramatic. John hated the movie; they watched it every year at least once during the Christmas season. He sipped his hot chocolate, which was still dangerously hot, but he managed to drink it without burning a hole through is tongue. When the movie was over (halleluiah), Mrs. Watson went to make lunch. Harry, who had thrown a big fit and refused to watch the movie with them came out to get a phone charger, then immediately went back to her room. 
“Do you have any siblings Sherlock?” Mr. Watson asked.
“Yes, a very annoying brother Mycroft.” Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
“Be thankful you don’t have a sister.” Mr. Watson advised, dropping his voice.
“I heard that!” Harry yelled from upstairs. Mr. Watson
“John dear, come here and help with lunch!” Mrs. Watson called from the kitchen. John rolled his eyes, but got up and went to the kitchen where his mom was putting sandwiches together. There were all types of assorted meats, cheeses, and breads, and Mrs. Watson was doing her best to prepare as many as she could.
“Try to mix things up okay?” she suggested. Sherlock poked his head around the corner.
“Do you need any extra help Mrs. Watson?” he asked.
“No thank you dear.” She said with a smile, and Sherlock disappeared around the corner again. John arranged too many sandwiches for his own liking, but when everything was used up, they crammed all of the sandwiches on a big platter and set them in the middle of the dining room table. They set the table, and then Mrs. Watson called everyone to lunch. John sat in the middle of the table to make sure Sherlock would have a spot next to him, and took a sandwich from the platter without waiting for everyone to arrive. Harry was the last to join them at the table, scowling at everyone and sitting at the very end of the table.
“Cheer up Harry.” Mr. Watson said, but it sounded more like a demand than a suggestion.
“Can Clara come over tonight?” she asked.
“Not after the way you’ve been acting.” Mrs. Watson said firmly.
“Mom come on, John gets to have his friend over!” Harry protested.
“Harry, be quite and eat your lunch.” Mr. Watson hissed. Harry took a sandwich with a lot of unnecessary aggressiveness.
“So Sherlock, do you play quidditch?” Mr. Watson asked, attempting to forget Harry’s little attitude.
“No, I’m not really the sports type.” He shrugged. He had one half of a sandwich on his plate, which he had only taken a bite out of, and he looked about finished with it.
“What do you enjoy then?”
“Reading, solving mysteries, I play the violin too.” he said with a smile.
“Do you know any Christmas songs?” Mrs. Watson asked, making Harry groan.
“Of course.”
“Oh, maybe you could play for us while we sing!” Mrs. Watson said excitedly.
“Do we really have to sing this year?” John asked.
“Of course, it’s a family tradition, you used to love to sing.”
“But now I’m older, and I don’t want to break Sherlock’s eardrums.”
“Don’t worry John, you can’t be that bad.” Sherlock assured.
“It’s not me I’m worried about.” John replied, glaring at his mother. Sherlock did his best to hide his laughter, which he did semi-successfully. When lunch was over, Sherlock helped clear the plates while Mr. Watson and Harry washed them, since John and Mrs. Watson had set and cooked.
“Let’s go upstairs.” John decided, whispering to Sherlock before Mrs. Watson could call them to do more family activities. Sherlock nodded, as if the opportunity couldn’t come too soon.