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John smiles as he reaches around Sherlock to put another bauble on the tree. Sherlock had refused to decorate the Christmas tree unless they did it scientifically and efficiently, so the three of them had agreed that Sherlock would do the baubles near the top, John the ones in the middle and Mina the ones around the bottom. Mina had then intervened with her own scientific method, saying that she should be allowed to put the star on the top because “Daddy, it’s not fair that he always gets to do it because Papa will always be taller than us and girls have a smaller growth rate than boys and at this rate I’ll never be allowed to!” Sherlock had positively beamed at her reasoning, and had picked her up to put the star on the top, and that had been that.
The fire is lit in the fireplace, there is (to Sherlock’s horror) Christmas music playing, and Mina is happily humming along to Santa Claus is Coming to Town. She stops, suddenly, and turns to look up at John with as serious a look as her six year old face can muster.
“Daddy, what’s naughty or nice?”
John almost starts giggling, but instead he leans down, plants a kiss in his daughter’s bright blonde curls and tells her, “You know, sweet pea, Papa is much better at explaining these things than me.” He gives Sherlock an evil grin over the top of the top of their daughter’s head before going back to decorating. He can see Sherlock start to scowl at him, then quickly rearrange his face when she turns to look at him with a perfect replica of John’s puppy-dog look (which is helped along by the perfect replicas of John’s eyes), and John is definitely having trouble holding in his laughter now. They’ve come a long way in the past six years.
When John had first moved back in with Mina (after Mary had buggered off to god knows where right after the birth), Sherlock hadn’t thought he was actually staying. For nearly the entire first month, every time Sherlock had looked at John, it was with a sort of wistful expression. He looked at John like John was something he could never have, no matter how much John tried to convince him that this was for real. After that first month, John had realized that they needed to talk, and he had sat Sherlock on their sofa after putting Mina down for the night.
“Sherlock, do you know why I named her Mina?”
Sherlock had shaken his head in frustration. “I haven’t the faintest. I have searched your family history, I have searched Mary’s fake family history, and I honestly cannot deduce where that name came from. Did you choose it at random?”
John had taken a deep breath, steeling himself, then had reached forward and taken Sherlock’s face between his hands.
“It’s the short form of Wilhelmina, Sherlock.”
He had had about three milliseconds to see Sherlock’s face completely slackened in shock before Sherlock had pulled him down and kissed him with a desperation neither of them knew he was capable of, and that had been the beginning of the rest of their lives.
Sherlock (William) is actually a girl’s name.
And now, 6 years, a wedding, and an adoption later, and Sherlock has raised their daughter to be (nearly) as scientific as him. There is a smaller, child-sized microscope on the table next to Sherlock’s now, as well as scientific children’s magazines and books on all the surfaces of the flat. Mina is halfway through learning the entire periodic table, and when she was a baby she carried the skull around wherever she went. John loves it. He had never pictured Sherlock as a parent, but between the two of them he thinks they have done a pretty good job.
Which brings him back to Sherlock, attempting to explain the concept of Naughty and Nice to Mina. Or rather not explaining it at all.
“Mina, naughty and nice are both abstract concepts that society has created to ensure the subservience of children. The so-called naughty children are the ones who question their parents too much, or speak out of turn, or generally do things that society does not approve of in children, despite the fact that these things would only further their knowledge and education. The so-called nice children are the ones who are subservient sheep and do only as they are told and never ask questions. In reality, a good child would be a mix of both, because sometimes it is good to listen to your parents, and sometimes it is good to question them because you feel you have been treated unfairly and it is important from a young age to learn how to argue your points and defend yourself in the face of injustice.”
Mina nods, having somehow understood exactly what he means, then asks her second question.
“But how can Santa tell, Papa? Can he deduce people, like you?”
Sherlock screws up his face and glares at John. He hadn’t wanted to do the whole Santa Claus song and dance routine because he hated the idea of lying to his child, but John had pushed it. So John replies, “Santa is magical, love. He just knows, and he doesn’t give the children presents if they’ve been too naughty.”
And now Mina screws up her face in a perfectly Sherlockian expression. John is pretty sure Sherlock has a long-term experiment going on nature versus nurture, and nurture is clearly winning out.
“Magic? That’s the only reason? What if he makes a mistake and the child was actually nice, and he doesn’t give them a present? Or what if... what if he thinks I was naughty because I knocked over Papa’s ess-per-i-ment?” She makes sure to sound out all the syllables, like John taught her, “I didn’t mean to, honest!”
She seems nervous now, and John starts to realize Sherlock may have been right about the whole Santa thing. Too late to go back, now... He swoops down, gathers the small pyjama-clad figure in his arms and gives her a hug.
“Sweet pea, he’s not going to make a mistake. You’re perfect to us, and that’s what matters. Now come on, it’s time to go to bed.”
John takes her upstairs, reads her the next chapter of The Hobbit, then pads back downstairs to find Sherlock waiting for him in the kitchen. He rises onto his toes to give Sherlock a quick peck, but Sherlock murmurs, “Is she in bed?” against his lips. He nods, and Sherlock gives him a deep, lingering kiss. John feels it all the way down to his toes, and he puts both his hands in Sherlock’s hair to pull him closer. Sherlock whimpers at the slightest pull of his hair, and John starts to plunder his mouth. They stay like that for a while, pulling each other as close as they can as their tongues explore each other’s mouths, when Sherlock pulls away and whispers, “I’m going to do the naughtiest things to you tonight,” against the shell of his ear. John smiles, then jumps nearly a foot in the air when a head of blond curls suddenly appears at the door of the kitchen and shouts, “But Papa! You can’t or else Santa won’t bring you any presents!”
John tries not to laugh, but he can’t. It’s threatening to explode out of him, and apparently making eye contact with Sherlock is the wrong decision, because suddenly the two of them have collapsed onto the floor, laughing like maniacs. Mina joins in, and the three of them sit like that, laughing on the kitchen floor, and John realizes he doesn’t care if Santa doesn’t bring him any presents, because he has everything he wants right here in his arms.