Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What the fuck have you done to the flat?” Enola shouts from the door, kicking today’s boots into the growing pile of shoes under the key rack.

The entire entry hallway is covered in greenery, some bits of tinsel glinting here and there. Fairy lights hang around their dingy sitting room when she finally wanders into it, and a sprig of what looks like mistletoe is pinned to the bedroom lintel. Tewkesbury is sat in the middle of the whole bloody mess, humming along to the drivel playing on the speaker in the corner as he weaves fresh pine boughs into a wreath.

“It looks like Christmas threw up in here,” Enola says, flicking him on the ear to get his attention as she makes for the couch.

“Well it is the season,” Tewkesbury tells her, smirking.

“Fucking hell, it’s only the first of December. Normal people wait a week or two before they break out the decorations.”

“We in the peerage take the birth of Christ very seriously. He is after all responsible for giving us the divine right to rule over all you plebeians.”

Enola wings the nearest throw pillow at him, Tewkesbury ducking as he cackles, but he at least turns the music off in deference to Enola turning on the television to watch the evening news.

Chapter Text

Mycroft calls to inform her that her attendance at this year’s Holmes’ Holiday Party is mandatory just as she’s finishing up a paper in the library, which means that Enola is in a terrible mood when she meets up with Tewkesbury and their mutual friend Cecily at the campus pub. Tewkesbury raises an eyebrow at her as she slams into their usual booth. Enola ignores him and the ridiculous fur-trimmed stocking hat he’s wearing in favor of slamming back the pint someone slides in front of her.

“Fucking Mycroft is demanding our presence at his annual Christmas WASP pageant,” Enola grumbles. “December can go die in a hole somewhere.”

“My girlfriend is apparently a fan of the Grinch,” Tewkesbury tells Cecily, giving Enola an affectionate squeeze.

Chapter Text

“And a gingerbread house latte for the lady,” the waiter says as he places a cup of coffee down in front of her.

“Ha bloody ha,” Enola tells Tewkesbury, rolling her eyes so hard they almost stick.

He’s getting far too much fun out of antagonizing her with this holiday shit, Enola thinks as she takes a sip of her drink. It’s surprisingly delicious, which just makes her angrier.

Chapter Text

Several poinsettias have joined the lights and greenery by the time Enola makes it home from her Ethics in Criminal Investigation seminar. She’s starting to suspect that Tewkesbury’s love for the holidays has more to do with the tradition of decorating with botanicals than a deep and abiding love for Jesus.

He’s in the kitchen making dinner, which at least somewhat makes up for the fact that she’ll apparently be living in a greenhouse for the next twenty-one days. There’s a glass of wine waiting on the counter for her as well. Enola scoops it up gratefully and settles onto one of the kitchen stools.

“I suppose you can keep the decorations as long as you keep feeding me,” she says.

“Seems like a fair trade,” Tewkesbury grins from the stove.

Chapter Text

“This is getting ridiculous,” Enola grumbles.

Cecily takes two candy canes out of the box being passed around with a smirk, and tucks the extra into the pocket of Enola’s flannel with far too much glee. Enola likes free candy as much as the next person, it’s just that she can’t stand the constant perpetuation of religious commercialization the general public insists upon this time of year.

“Save the rant for your boyfriend,” Cecily says. “God knows how that nincompoop puts up with you.”

Tewkesbury is naturally delighted when he finds the candy cane later that night. Enola glares at him as he unwraps the end, his dark gaze flashing with amusement and something else as he starts to suck.

Chapter Text

Sherlock’s flat is pleasantly devoid of decoration when Enola rings up to talk about the case he’s asking her to take. There are no wreaths, poinsettias, or tinsel in sight.

“Never change,” Enola tells her brother as he carries the tea tray in from the kitchen.

“I should get you presents more often,” Sherlock says dryly.

Enola, reaching for one of Mrs. Hudson’s famous shortbread biscuits, stops short. Sherlock never says things he doesn’t mean, and it sounds suspiciously like her brother’s decision to give her business is sentimental rather than pragmatic.

“Surely you can’t mean this is a Christmas gift.”

Sherlock cracks a rare smile as Enola scoffs in disgust, flinging herself dramatically back onto the sofa cushions.

“I thought you liked the holidays?” he asks mildly.

“I like the winter,” Enola mutters mulishly. “Mum was the one who liked Christmas.”

Her older brother, who is as allergic to feelings as she is, doesn’t push. Instead he runs her through the robbery case he’s fobbing off, then fetches a bottle of scotch from the kitchen cupboard and pours a shot into her tea. Enola sips moodily at her cup while Sherlock fetches his violin from the cupboard. She nearly snorts it out her nose when he strikes up a Christmas tune.

Chapter Text

“Money shot,” Enola crows to herself, snapping away.

The telescopic lens does an excellent job of catching the minute details of the Santa suit her mark is wearing, as well as the lecherous look on his face as he tugs the blond he’s snogging closer by the waist. Really, the fact that a grown man wants to dress up like Father Christmas should have been all the red flag his wife needed to divorce him. Enola is happy enough to supply additional evidence though, especially for her usual fee.

“Did you get what you needed?” Tewkesbury asks her when she finally makes it home.

“Read ‘em and weep,” she answers, throwing her packet of photos down on the counter. “Santa’s been a naughty, naughty boy.”

“The amount of joy you’re getting from this is somewhat perverse.”

"Schadenfreude. Pass me one of those, will you?”

Tewkesbury forks over one of the gingerbread men he’s painstakingly frosting gamely enough. Enola wiggles her eyebrows as she bites its head off with savage enthusiasm, enjoying the look on her boyfriend’s face almost as much as her biscuit.

Chapter Text

“That one,” Enola says, pointing to the saddest looking tree on the lot.

Tewkesbury cocks his head to the side like a golden retriever, squinting at the pathetic little spruce. She feels something warm bloom in her chest at the sight despite herself, tucking deeper into his side as the wind blows a little harder.

“It has a certain charm,” he offers.

Enola snorts and shakes her head. At the end of the day, his ability to see the good in anything (in anyone) is what she loves most about him.

“It’s a bit scraggly now that I’ve had a better look,” she concedes.

They wander around for another few minutes, Tewkesbury poking at the foliage, while Enola bounces on the balls of her feet to stay warm. He’s dithering between two identical Douglas firs when a White Spruce a little farther down the row catches her eye. It reminds her of the kind of tree her mother would have picked - on the smaller side, branches a little all over the place. Perfect size to stick in a corner to give a room that ‘holiday character’ Eudoria had always loved.

“That one looks like a fine choice,” Tewkesbury whispers in her ear, wrapping his arms around her carefully from behind as he catches the direction of her gaze.

Of course Enola has a certain image to maintain. When the woman in front of them at the checkout queue compliments their pick, Enola spends five minutes complaining about the hassle and expense of keeping a live tree.

Chapter Text

It’s not that Enola intentionally puts the Christmas movie on. It’s more like she doesn’t change the channel when the thriller she’s watching switches over to something holiday themed. She blames the temporary lapse in judgment on exam week exhaustion and loneliness. Tewkesbury is holed up in the greenhouse tending to the seedlings for his botany course, and Enola is all alone in the flat for the first time in weeks. 

She wakes up the next morning to a crick in her neck, warm and cozy under her favorite throw blanket. The smell of coffee in the kitchen means that Tewkesbury is likely home. Enola shuffles into the kitchen to find him humming over the coffee pot, and gratefully accepts the mug he hands her.

“Did you have a nice night?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

It takes her half her cup to realize that she hadn’t pulled the blanket out herself. Tewkesbury is smirking at her like that because the telly must have still been playing Christmas drivel when he came in.

“Yes, thank you,” she tells him primly over the rim of her mug. “And I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating.”

Chapter Text

“Why do you hate me?” Enola asks the mirror.

Cecily, visible over her shoulder in the glass, just rolls her eyes. If there’s anything Enola hates more than the holidays, it’s clothes shopping.

“You look beautiful,” Cecily says.

“You lured me here under false pretenses and I resent the implication that I’m unable to dress myself.”

“I’ll let you leave to study as soon as you buy that.”

As much as Enola hates to admit it, the dress Cecily had forced her into is absolutely gorgeous. It’s not anything she would choose for herself, but she can appreciate the dramatic cut of the bodice and the beading along the skirt now that she’s wearing it. The fact that the detailing is of poinsettias only makes her want to stab her eyes out a little bit.

“Fucking Mycroft and his posh fucking parties,” Enola mutters after she’s forked over a ludicrous £150 at the register.

“Poor little rich girl” Cecily tells her, patting Enola’s hand where it’s resting in the crook of her elbow with a staggering amount of condescension.

Chapter Text

The local pub should be written up for inciting instances of sexual harassment, Enola decides after the second time she finds herself trapped under the mistletoe with someone who isn’t Tewkesbury. Tewkesbury himself seems to find the whole thing hilarious, toasting her from the bar with a fresh pint as Cecily and their other friends cheer.

“Kiss me on the lips and I’ll kick you in the balls,” Enola tells the over eager blond towering over her.

The grin he’s wearing disappears in an instant and he drops an awkward peck to her forehead before scurrying back to his own mates.

“Grinch,” Cecily ribs her. “It’s just a bit of holiday fun.”

“Oh, cuz you would be so happy to kiss a stranger.”

“If it was a fit bird I certainly wouldn’t be complaining.”

Enola flashes her the vee.

Chapter Text

Enola pops over to Sherlock’s after a morning spent writing her last final and tailing the leading suspect in his robbery case to dig the box of Mother’s ornaments out of the corner of his basement storage locker. Her hands only shake slightly as she lifts the lid. She hadn’t planned to bring these out, but then she had caught sight of the bare tree in the living room corner this morning and found herself missing the usual holiday sights of her childhood.

Enola leaves with the box tucked under her arm. Tewkesbury is popping corn to make garlands for their tree when she walks through the door. He drapes an arm around her shoulders as she quietly lays the ornaments in front of them on the counter. 

“Do you mind?” she murmurs.

“‘Course not,” he answers, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s your tree too.”

Chapter Text

Her mobile starts ringing again with the alert tone that means Mycroft is calling for the fifth time today. She passes it off to Tewkesbury without looking up from the case notes she’s going over.

“Your brother wants to confirm that you will be properly attired and turned out for his party this Saturday, and he asked me to inform you that no hint of scandal will be tolerated.”

“Scandal,” Enola snorts. “The way Mycroft goes on about reputation, you’d think we live in the nineteenth century.”

“The aristocracy still tends to, most days,” Tewkesbury teases from where he’s lounging rather autocratically next to her.

“And why aren’t you being reminded to dress well?” Enola pivots, digging her cold feet under his thigh and watching him twitch in amusement.

“Because I grew up going to the sorts of functions that Mycroft dreams of being asked to attend?” he retorts.

“He should see the kind of shit you wear about campus,” Enola grumbles, eyeing the massive hole in the left elbow of his jumper.

Tewkesbury gives the threadbare knees of her jeans a pointed look. Ever the mature one in the relationship, Enola sticks her tongue out before going back to her reading.

Chapter Text

Tewkesbury tries valiantly to keep a straight face when he sees what she’s wearing, but it doesn’t hold for long. Enola plants her hands on her hips and tries her best to look threatening despite the bloody elf costume she’s got on.

“That thief I’m tracking for Sherlock has been casing the shops on the high street,” Enola says with all the dignity she can muster. “Santa’s workshop is set up down the middle. It’s an ideal vantage point.”

“I think I’ll come with you,” Tewkesbury says. “There’s some Christmas shopping I’ve just remembered I need to finish.”

Enola finds she regrets letting him about two hours later when he snaps a picture of her apprehending her suspect in all her elven glory. Cecily laughs herself sick over it when they meet up for drinks that night, and Enola spends the rest of the evening in a full sulk.

Chapter Text

“Let’s go get this over with,” Enola grumbles, padding back into the bedroom from the ensuite as she finishes putting her mother’s pearls in her ears. “Take a shot every time Mycroft mentions his club?”

“We’ll be pissed within the hour,” Tewkesbury points out, looking up from shooting his cuffs.

The way his mouth slackens as he catches sight of her dress is well worth the money she’d spent on it. Enola grins, wolf-like, and decides they can be a little late to her brother’s stupid party. Tewkesbury, stalking toward her with clear intent, definitely agrees.

Mycroft is, predictably, irate over her disheveled appearances, late arrival, and flippant greeting (probably in exactly that order). Enola just drags an equally rumpled Tewkesbury towards the open bar for her first gin and tonic of the evening. It’s certainly not her last, given the number of Mycroft’s political acquaintances who stop by to give Tewkesbury their regards. Her boyfriend’s running commentary on the various scandals the aristocracy have been involved in is the only thing that makes the evening tolerable. That and the alcohol, of course.

Chapter Text

Enola spends the morning slumped across the sofa nursing the worst hangover headache she’s had in years. Tewkesbury, fresh as a daisy and unbearably smug about it, makes a massive fry-up. The smell makes her stomach roll over, but Enola forces down several greasy eggs and a couple slices of toast with a cup of tea.

She doesn’t protest when Tewkesbury puts a Christmas movie on, just flops on top of him and lets his heat soak into her bones. Enola drifts in out of sleep for the rest of the afternoon, perfectly content in their little bubble.

Chapter Text

Enola spends most of the day working out of her ‘office’ (read: the coffee shop nearest her flat), taking advantage of the term break to catch up on her case backlog. She spends the morning sorting out her paperwork before taking her camera and picking up the latest spouse she’s being paid to tail in the afternoon. She doesn’t get a money shot and she ends up covered in slush when the bus she takes home stops a little too close to the curb, which is to say she’s in a terrible mood when she finally makes it through her front door.

“Fucking December,” Enola mutters to herself as she strips out of her damp jeans and sodden jumper, shivering even in the warm air of the flat as she climbs into a scalding shower.

She’s rolled herself into a duvet burrito by the time Tewkesbury gets home from a night out with his public school friends, amusingly tipsy. He flops into bed beside her, brow wrinkling as he realizes there’s no blanket. Enola takes pity on him and shuffles over to include him in her self-pity cocoon, slightly cheered by the sight of her adorably sleepy boyfriend.

Chapter Text

Cecily comes over with eggnog just after breakfast. Enola grumbles as she digs the bottle of scotch out of the back of the cabinet and pours a generous tipple in each of their glasses.

“I’m all for day drinking, but did it have to be eggnog?”

“I know you helped pick out that Christmas tree,” Cecily says. “So you can stuff it up your arse and let me enjoy my drink in peace.”

The two of them are on their way to pleasantly pissed when Tewkesbury finally shuffles out of the bedroom, expression turning queasy when he catches sight of what they’re drinking. Enola slides only slightly unsteadily off her stool to find something for breakfast. The sausages are slightly burned and the eggs are a bit crisp, but nobody bothers to complain.

Chapter Text

“My mother wants to know if we’ll be in attendance for Christmas dinner.”

“Don’t see why not. I certainly won’t be cooking.”

“The trains don’t run on Christmas.”

“So?”

“We’ll be there for two nights.”

“Would you like to continue stating the obvious, or would you like to make some sort of point?”

“You know my mother’s opinions on unmarried couples sharing beds.”

“It’s cute that you think I’ll follow her rules.”

“I’ll book the tickets.”

Chapter Text

Enola pops round to see Sherlock first thing in the morning to update him on their shared case. She texts him the photo of her taking down the perp from the tube as a grudging Christmas present and politely ignores the way his mouth twitches up at the corner when he opens the door for her. Watson is in the kitchen; he hollers his usual cheery hullo as Enola makes herself comfortable on the sofa, which is no easy feat considering her brother’s hatred of anything not strictly utilitarian.

“Excellent job wrapping this up,” Sherlock says after he’s skimmed through the file she hands him. “You make a marvelous little helper.”

Enola rolls her eyes at his rather canned attempt at humor. She sits up straight and digs up a real smile when her brother’s partner comes in with a tea tray a moment later, because Watson is an angel.

“Got any plans for the holidays, Dr. Watson?” Enola asks politely, ignoring the pinched expression Sherlock has adopted.

“Can’t say that I do,” says the good doctor. “Knowing Sherlock here we’ll end up picking up a client anyway. And what about yourself?”

“Tewkesbury and I are spending Christmas with his mother in the country.”

Enola and Watson engage in a few more minutes of polite chitchat, the kind that Sherlock likes to pretend he is incapable of, before Enola finally excuses herself to meet Cecily on the high street. It had come to her attention in the middle of last night that going to Tewkesbury’s home for Christmas means bringing a suitable gift for his mother. Enola hardly trusts her own taste, but Cecily’s is excellent.

Enola’s mind is already busy churning over everything she remembers about the Dowager Countess of Basilwether as Sherlock escorts her to the door, which is to say that she almost falls over in surprise when he opens his mouth again.

“I’m sorry we can’t have a family Christmas this year.”

“No you’re not,” Enola points out once she’s managed to regain her powers of speech. “You hate spending time with Mycroft, and you’ve barely warmed up to me.”

“Fine, I’m not,” her brother agrees. “But are you?”

It takes her a moment to think before she answers this time. “No. If Mother were still alive it would be different, but you and I aren’t the type to hold too tightly to sentiment.”

Sherlock squeezes her shoulder before she takes her leave, which is practically a hug from him. This level of emotion is frankly unprecedented, or so Enola tells Tewkesbury later that night.

“I think it’s sweet,” he says, the nincompoop.

Chapter Text

Enola almost doesn’t answer when she sees that it’s Mycroft calling, but the pragmatic part of her assumes that her eldest sibling wouldn’t be interested in talking to her without reason. She finds herself staring at the wall after they ring off until Tewkesbury pokes his head from the kitchen with a soft, “Enola?”

“I think the world is ending,” she says. “Mycroft just called to ask if I had somewhere to go for Christmas.”

He had been extraordinarily himself about it, of course, but he had asked nonetheless. First Sherlock, now Mycroft, who next? If she’d known it was going to come to this when they’d agreed to reconcile last summer, she would have left well enough alone and fucked right back off. Tewkesbury, only child that he is, doesn’t seem to grasp the horror of her siblings having emotions. He just shrugs and disappears back behind the wall to finish the gingerbread house he’s working on.

Chapter Text

Enola wakes up slowly to the light seeping in around the edges of the bedroom curtains, Tewkesbury’s arm a warm weight across her waist. She considers getting up for a brief moment, but she’s so comfortable and there’s nothing needing doing that can’t wait until later. They stumble out of bed sometime around one in the afternoon in search of something edible, and end up on the living room floor with the leftover curry from last night’s takeaway.

Chapter Text

“Why did I let you talk me into this,” Enola grumbles, crowding into Tewkesbury’s back as yet another person tries to shove past her towards the platform. “This is a nightmare.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to cook for Christmas dinner,” Tewkesbury reminds her, twisting to tuck her under his arm as they battle the crowds to find their train. “And it was either leave today or spend an extra night at my mother’s. I chose the lesser evil.”

Enola has to give him that one; Tewkesbury’s mother is lovely but more than slightly out of touch. Two nights spent at the estate will be more than enough to last them until the next holiday they’re expected to show their faces at.

Chapter Text

Christmas morning dawns on Enola sneaking back into the guest room from Tewkesbury’s suite before his mother comes to fetch him. The tree downstairs is predictably cluttered with presents when she finally wanders into the formal drawing room to join Tewkesbury, the dowager, and the handful of other relations the dowager had thought to invite. The scarf Cecily had helped her pick is received well, and Enola offers polite thanks for the horribly gaudy jewelry she finds under the wrapping paper labeled with her own name.

The day continues in much the same vein of formal traditions until dinner is finally finished and Enola can sneak away to the gardens. Tewkesbury joins her shortly despite the cold with a flask tucked into his inner pocket. They exchange their own presents on a bench in the hedge maze, Enola exclaiming with genuine excitement over the concert tickets he gives her and Tewkesbury quietly delighted with the gift card to one of his favorite nurseries that she hands him.

They sit silently for a while after that, huddling into each other and passing the flask back and forth to stay warm. Enola can’t help but grin as snow flurries start to fall around them, finding herself flush with holiday spirit despite her best efforts.

“Happy Christmas,” she turns to tell Tewkesbury. “I’m sorry for being such a grinch this year.”

“Happy Christmas,” he answers. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”