The Christmas Tree Quest
Title: The Christmas Tree Quest
Fandom: Sherlock (TV)
Characters: Sherlock, Mycroft, their parents
Summary: Father had never let Sherlock ride a real horse until one Christmas Eve when Sherlock was six.
Rating: K, G, whatever, there is absolutely nothing disturbing
Warnings: none except for so much fluff and sweetness that your teeth will need a dentist ;)
Merry Christmas everyone :) That was written for WitchRavenFox, who is one of my most faithful readers. Please comment and tell me what you liked and what you didn't like! :)
The morning air on Christmas Eve was crisp and frosty, but at least it was a sunny day. Sherlock, sitting on a low bench in front of the Holmes family house, was staring intently at his breath forming puffs of white vapour while Mycroft went to the stables with Father. When he breathed onto his glove, the warm, wet air formed tiny crystals of ice on the leather, but they melted soon because his hand was warm inside the glove and made the ice heat up above zero and thus turn back into water.
It was very interesting, watching how nature works, especially if you were a boy of six, but at that precise moment Sherlock heard a neigh and he saw his brother and Father approaching, leading three horses with them: one black as coal and two chestnut-coloured. The animals were very big and beautifully groomed, with the manes and tails combed and shining in the sun. They were already saddled and had all the necessary equipment on, ready for a ride.
Of course, Sherlock knew his family owned horses - he often watched Grandfather and Father teach Mycroft the basics of horse-riding (at which Mycroft was no good), but he would never let Sherlock ride a real, big horse, only an old and extremely calm pony that would trod lazily across the fields, and Sherlock didn't like it at all, because it was boring.
But every year, Mycroft and Father would go for what Father jokingly called the Christmas Tree Quest. It had been a family tradition for years and it basically meant that they would get up early in the morning on Christmas Eve and have a nice ride across the winter landscape towards the place where the local lumberjack had prepared a big, branchy spruce for them. They would haul the tree onto a sledge and bring it back to the manor, and when Sherlock would wake up, there would already be a Christmas tree in the hallway, being dressed by Mummy and her sisters. Sherlock could only place a few baubles on the lower branches tree, because he was so short and the tree was so big, and Mummy's sisters would want to pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair and squeal at how cute he was, so he preferred to stay in his room and read a book.
Sherlock always wanted to go for the Christmas Tree Quest, but Father had never wanted to take him. However, the previous evening, Father said: “My son, you are already a big boy, and I think you would be a great help on our Christmas Tree Quest this year”. And then he added in a whisper, “Besides, Mycroft has some... trust issues, with the horses”, which made Sherlock laugh at the memory, because one of the horses neighed into Mycroft's ear and the boy jumped back with a shriek.
Father put a riding helmet on Sherlock's head and helped him get onto the black horse. The animal neighed softly as Sherlock said hello to it and put his feet in the stirrups. He stroked the black mane with his gloved hand and gave the horse's sides an experimental squeeze with his legs, just as he used to do with the pony (he didn't even remember its name). The animal went a few steps forth and stopped when Sherlock told it to. It was so brilliant, it knew perfectly well what Sherlock was thinking and Sherlock started to love it already.
Mycroft's horse didn't want to have Mycroft on its back and danced around until Father, already up on his own horse, caught the harness and the animal calmed down. The sleigh was already attached to Father's and Mycroft's horses.
“Don't I pull the sleigh too?”, Sherlock asked when the three of them took off towards the forest.
“You might later, if Mycroft manages to fall off his horse”, Father said with a laugh as Mycroft's horse was producing noises of displeasure. “Now you can ride freely, but don't go too far away or you will get lost”.
Sherlock grinned at him and went into first a trot and then into a gallop across the snowy field. From time to time he would turn back to see where Father and Mycroft were, but they were always following him steadily.
He knew where the lumberjack worked and was there first, so he used the additional time to do some laps around a copse. The landscape was great and Sherlock made sure he had it properly catalogued in his head so that he could call it back whenever he was feeling sad. The lumberjack was watching him from behind the tree that he had prepared for the Holmes family.
“See, Mycroft, you can already learn horse-riding from Sherlock”, Father said as they caught up.
Mycroft looked grumpy, his chubby cheeks red from the freezing wind. Father looked all collected and proud on his horse, and Sherlock liked it.
Father got off the horse and soon he and the lumberjack were hauling the giant tree onto the sledge and fastening it with ropes. Father's old coat that he wore especially for the purpose was soon covered in resin and green needles, and the tree had a very Christmas-like smell to it. Sherlock wanted to put his head in the tree and just smell it.
“See, Sherlock, Mr Roberts had to get up very early and work hard to get the tree ready for us, so we owe him a big thankyou”, Father said as he remounted the horse.
“Thank you, Mr Roberts”, Sherlock said.
“No problem, little one”, Mr Roberts replied and winked at Sherlock as they departed.
Sherlock went into a gallop again, this time making big circles around Father and Mycroft, which earned him some snide remarks from his brother, who couldn't even keep the horse in a steady trot by himself.
“It's because you're so nervous”, Sherlock said as he went into a trot beside Mycroft.
“I'm not nervous”, the older boy said in a very high-pitched and panicked voice. “It's the horse that's nervous”.
“But you're making it nervous with you being nervous”, Sherlock didn't give up.
“Oh, just shut up, you show-off”, Mycroft said through gritted teeth.
“Mycroft!”, Father reprimanded him.
“Sorry”, Mycroft replied, rolling his eyes. Sherlock thought that Mycroft didn't want his advice when it came to horse-riding and resumed his circles around the party.
He started to feel a bit cold when they reached the manor. It was time to go home for hot tea, and Father helped him get off the horse. “I think Mycroft did learn something today”, he said, smiling at Sherlock and taking the black horse by the harness. Sherlock unfastened the helmet and gave it to Father. Then he waved a goodbye to the black horse and Father walked the animals back to the stables with Mycroft, who was still a bit sulking.
Sherlock, despite being already a bit cold, dropped onto the unspoilt snow surface, laid on his back and waved his arms and legs around until he was sure he made a perfect angel, but just then Father returned.
“I leave you for two minutes and you already get yourself all wet with the snow!”, he scolded Sherlock as he picked him up from the frozen ground, patted his coat to get rid of the sticky snow, and carried him up the stairs to the manor. Sherlock looked back at the snow angel that was, as he expected, of perfect shape. Father's coat smelled like the Christmas tree.
Inside, Sherlock was put on his legs and helped out of his coat and riding shoes.
“Mummy! I rode a horse today!”, he announced happily when Mummy greeted them in the hallway.
“Oh, I thought you will like your early Christmas present!”, Mummy chirped, clapping her hands in glee. “Your Grandfather raised it especially for you!”
“Is it my present? Really?!”, Sherlock was so overcome with joy that he thought he would explode there and then. He grasped Father by the legs and held him tight as they both laughed.
“Margaret, you didn't have to spoil the surprise!”, Father said between bouts of laughter, “Sherlock, I'm going to fall if you don't let go!”
Sherlock let go and stuck to Mummy's legs in turn.
“Can I name him?!”, Sherlock looked up at Mummy expectantly, out of breath.
“Erm...”, Mummy said with uneasiness, ruffling his hair and looking at Dad. Mummy was the only person Sherlock allowed to ruffle his hair.
“Actually, it already has a name”, Father said. “Its name is John”.
“Oh”, Sherlock said, his enthusiasm a bit faded. “I thought I could name it Deduction. But John's fine, too!”, he added quickly with renewed glee when Mummy started to look worried, “because this John is so brilliant that even with such a boring name he won't be boring!”
“Oh, you little freak”, Mummy said with a chuckle, pushing Sherlock softly towards the dining room where mugs full of tea were already steaming on the table.