A/N: Follow up to a certain story of mine, a pretty long one to be honest

Sherlock knew that John was nervous. He does this cute little thing where he paces around and bites his lip; fiddling with whatever clothing he happened to be wearing. Today, however, it was a nice dress shirt with slacks, an outfit that John usually never wore unless he wanted to impress someone. Sherlock rarely ever saw that outfit anymore, except on anniversaries or special occasions, but John knew that he could impress Sherlock just by existing. It still didn't take much for Sherlock to fall head over heels in love with him once more, after all of these years. It wasn't a mystery why John was nervous, Sherlock could feel his nerves eating away at himself as well, but he knew it was unnecessary. Things would either work out, or they won't, it didn't really matter. Nothing mattered today except that they were happy, no matter how many black eyes resulted, no matter how many swear words were exchanged, John and Sherlock would still be in love and that would be all that mattered. It's always been that way, since they first fell in love to when they first made their escape; their love was all that was important. Today was the first time in a while that their families were going to converge, that they were going to have to share a table and pass the salt and have actual conversations, it was Thanksgiving. Now Thanksgiving was awful in even the most normal of families, but they had a special situation. The Holmes and Watson families have always had a feud, they've always had a resentments that carried down the family tree, right up until Sherlock and John, the offspring of the two competing families. Something about these two just clicked, and after nearly eighteen years of torment, they had finally gotten over their blood feud and discovered that they might have more feelings in their hearts, feelings for one another other than hate. 

"Don't be nervous John." Sherlock insisted, walking over to his husband and standing at the end of the room, John's ultimate pacing destination until he turned around and went the other way. The floorboards creaked under the rug as John leisurely made his way over, a look of pure fear on his beautiful face.
"I'm not nervous." He lied. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head doubtfully and looking at John with an accusing look.
"I can tell when you're nervous John; we've been married for nearly ten years." Sherlock pointed out.
"And in those fifteen years, how many times have our families actually interacted?" John wondered, and Sherlock just shrugged.
"I don't know, that one year we had Christmas together." Sherlock pointed out, not wanting to talk about the aftermath.
"And my dad dressed up as Santa Claus, right until your brother attacked him and ripped of the beard and ruined Hamish's Christmas!" John pointed out.
"Ya, well that was a while ago, he's older now, we're all pretty mature." Sherlock decided.
"My father's pushing sixty and Hamish is still more mature than him." John pointed out. He finally walked up to Sherlock, stopping and fiddling with the cuff off his shirt. "I just don't want them to fight anymore; I want them to make peace once and for all."
"Then maybe today will be the day." Sherlock decided. John just shook his head doubtfully, putting his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and looking into his eyes, smiling.
"What did I ever do to deserve you?" John wondered, and Sherlock just laughed.
"You always ask yourself that question John, but I think full well that you did everything to deserve me." Sherlock decided.
"I was awful to you; I bullied you to no ends for years." John pointed out. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head and trying to pretend that never happened.
"It was alright with me, I got to spend time with you." Sherlock shrugged. John just stared at him, looking heartbroken.
"That is the saddest thing I think I've ever heard." He decided, pressing a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips just as the doorbell rang.
"Not as sad as that though." John groaned, finally releasing Sherlock and staring at the hallway, knowing one family was waiting behind their front door. Honeybee was the first to greet them, although she was getting a bit slower as the years went on. At nine years old though, that dog could run fast and bark loudly, and soon there was the sound of scratching at the door. She was the only one that wanted to meet the family, but alas Sherlock and John hastily made their way through the house.
"Hamish come on, great the guests!" Sherlock called as John quickly checked his reflection in the mirror. Sherlock grabbed his hand reassuringly, nodding at him with a smile.
"It'll be fine." He assured, and John just groaned.
"Whatever you say love." He decided. Hamish came running down the staircase with his black dress shirt and a red tie, trying his best to comb his blonde hair down with his hands.
"Don't you look fancy?" Sherlock laughed, and Hamish just groaned.
"I hate ties." He decided.
"Join the club." Sherlock groaned. As soon as Hamish was downstairs Sherlock nudged Honeybee aside and opened the door. Thankfully it was the Holmes family, the ones that would be most happy to see Sherlock at the door.
"Sherlock!" Mrs. Holmes said happily, handing the large dish of creamed corn to her husband and throwing her arms around her son's neck. Sherlock let go of the door in an attempt to pry his mother off of him, finding it hard to breathe with his face stuck in the mess of her brown scarf.
"You're killing me mother." he insisted, and finally she let go, staring at her boy with a smile on her face.
"You look older." She decided.
"Well it's only been a couple of months, I can't imagine I changed that much." He insisted.
"Just you wait until you get to be my age boy." Mrs. Hudson said with a croak, hobbling inside while leaning heavily on her cane.
"Mrs. Hudson, always happy to see you're...alive." Sherlock said rather reluctantly. 
"Don't give me that Sherlock, this world's not going to get the best of me, not until Mycroft gives me another grandchild." Mrs. Hudson insisted.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Mycroft insisted, looking disgusted.
"We're not technically your children." Sherlock pointed out rather awkwardly, worried Mrs. Hudson had become more forgetful than ever.
"Yes you are, come here, give me a hug!" she insisted, leaning her cane against the door and holding her arms up. Sherlock just laughed, gently giving her a hug so that he wouldn't break her brittle bones. Sherlock helped her back to her cane just in time for Honeybee to attack, jumping up on Mycroft and trying to lick the scowl right off of his face. He looked older, maybe it was the small wrinkles, maybe it was the thinning hair on the top of his head, or maybe it was because he was wearing one of the company ties. Sherlock didn't want to accept Mrs. Hudson's age but he was happy to acknowledge Mycroft's, the faster he took a dirt nap the better off this world would be. John was standing rather awkwardly in the doorway, obviously not knowing what to do and who to address first. Obviously Mrs. Hudson was closest to him, just because she wasn't family biased, and obviously he would try to ignore Mycroft's existence for as long as possible. If anyone hated the Watsons most it was Mycroft, maybe he was just trying to keep up the family tradition or to make his father proud, but either way he always looked like the stocks had dropped when John was around. I would use the expression someone killed a puppy, but Mycroft loved stocks more than anything. In fact a puppy murder probably wouldn't even make him flinch.
"And is that John back there?" Mrs. Hudson wondered, trying her best to peer over Sherlock's shoulder.
"Nope, I got remarried." Sherlock lied, and for a moment his family looked rather confused.
"Of course it's me, shut up Sherlock." John laughed, pushing Sherlock aside to give Mrs. Hudson a hug as well.
"And there's Hamish!" Mrs. Holmes said happily, giving Hamish a hug.
"Yay, everyone's noticing each other oh it's wonderful. Can I wait in the car?" Mycroft wondered, still asking his parents' permission to do anything.
"No Mycroft, come in, don't let Honeybee out." Sherlock insisted, gesturing for everyone to come inside. Mycroft grabbed the dog by the collar and forced her inside, making Sherlock flinch a little bit. Mr. Holmes shut the door and finally the entrance way started to warm up.
"Why couldn't you have made this a bit bigger?" Mrs. Holmes wondered, looking a bit crammed as she tried not to get in to close of proximity with John.
"Well I'm sorry, but I didn't really think of entry ways when we built it." Sherlock insisted.
"I remember some fun times in our entry way back home." Mrs. Hudson laughed, and Sherlock went a bit pale. No one had ever told the Holmes family about what really happened the night Redbeard had died. Then again, there were things better left unsaid.
"Everyone come on in, let's get that corn in the kitchen, let's get a kettle boiling." John decided, holding out an arm to help Mrs. Hudson to the living room.
"I'm not dead yet, I can walk a few feet!" she insisted with a croaky old voice, but nevertheless she took his arm and he led her to one of the more comfy recliners. Hamish ran to get the kettle boiling, that was usually his job, and Sherlock stood rather awkwardly in the kitchen while Mrs. Holmes tried to make room for the corn on the counter. Honeybee was still jumping around, trying her best to meet all of the new guests. It had been a while since the Holmes family had been in the house, and even longer since the Watsons had, so these were basically new friends for the dog.
"You look well." Mr. Holmes decided, the only thing he could think to say to his son. Sherlock nodded proudly, looking at his father with a bit of a dominant glare. He knew he shouldn't feel superior to the owner of a million dollar company, especially when that man was his father, but for some reason Sherlock felt like he had something, something his father didn't. Maybe it was love, or the fact that he had escaped the life of a rich slave to a man with a loving family who didn't care what anyone else thought.
"I am well." Sherlock agreed with a nod. It sounded like an appropriate response.
"This all, it's alright? Your life with...with John?" Mr. Holmes asked, sounding as though he were trying to cough up a hairball. He said John's name like it was poison; he still never really got over the fact that Sherlock married the son of his biggest competitor.
"Everything is magical, like something out of a fairytale." Sherlock agreed. Mr. Holmes smiled a very small smile, as if he was scared of admitting he was happy.
"That's good." He decided.
"Sherlock love, where did you put all the tea cups?" John wondered, almost absentmindedly. Mr. Holmes went a bit rigid, but Sherlock just smiled to himself, walking over to the cabinets and getting the cups down from the tallest shelf. John always asked Sherlock where they were even though he knew full well that Sherlock never moved them. John was just too embarrassed to ask for help reaching the tallest shelf in the cabinet, so he always played dumb so that his taller husband could get the cups without getting a stepping stool.
"I'll have to go find some more; we don't have enough for this crowd." Sherlock mumbled.
"We don't have any more remember? We'll have to improvise, I'll stick with water." John decided.
"As will I. We've got six, so one for each parent, for Mrs. Hudson, and Harry." Sherlock decided.
"Harry's coming?" John wondered.
"I assume so." Sherlock shrugged.
"I don't know, she never RSVP'd." John mumbled, very aware of everyone listening in on their conversation.
"Then just give it to Mycroft then, until she arrives." Sherlock decided.
"Fair enough." John agreed. Hamish came running up, pulling at Mrs. Holmes's sleeve to show her some sort of clay monster he had made. He was nine years old now, but he was still fascinated with creating things, drawing, painting, sculpting, John said he got that habit from Sherlock but Sherlock insisted he never had a passion for any of that stuff. Sometimes the two forget that he was adopted and they all try to claim his traits as their own, even going as far as insisting that he got his blonde hair from John and his laugh from Sherlock. The tea kettle was just heating up when the doorbell rang for a second fateful time, and Sherlock and John stared at it in horror. Mr. Holmes stood up straighter and Mycroft was straightening his company tie, making sure the family logo stood out nice and clear. That honestly didn't help anything but whatever, Mycroft will be Mycroft.
"That will be my parents then." John muttered rather awkwardly, walking towards the door. Hamish was the only one who scampered right along with him, Hamish and Honeybee. The Holmes family lingered rather awkwardly in the kitchen, obviously deciding to wait until the other family walked inside to great them. Sherlock heard the door open and the exchanges of welcome, and he slowly made his way over, walking awkwardly down the hall as he watched John get hugged by his parents. The Watsons still scared him, he hadn't seen them much and never got a good vibe from either of the parents. However rare it was that the Watson showed up, it was even rarer to see their daughter, Harry. And yet here she was, with what looked like bleach blonde hair and a fuzzy looking orange sweater, looking very moody yet somewhat mature. Sherlock had only met Harry twice, and neither encounter had been very pleasant. The only good thing about Harry was that she didn't seem to care about the family feud; in fact she didn't seem to care about anything. She wasn't biased towards the Holmes family because she hated everyone, and I guess that was better than being singled out.
"And Sherlock, you look very nice." Mrs. Watson said with a large smile, coming over and giving Sherlock a motherly hug. Sherlock smiled, hugging back rather awkwardly and waiting until she let go to finally step into his own personal bubble, edging closer to John.
"Hello Mrs. Watson, Mr. Watson, I'm so happy you could make it. And Harry, nice to see you again." Sherlock decided with a little wave to John's sister. She just smiled, twirling a cigarette in her fingers and looking around, as if trying to find a private place to smoke. That brought Sherlock back to when he used to hide his cigarettes in his room, smoking them in his private bathroom and hoping his parents didn't smell it. Those cigarettes had been his last chance, his last ditch attempt to find happiness in the darkest of times, when he thought that he was all alone, when he thought John would never love him. If he would've told his teenaged self that he would be here now, happily married to John Watson, well he would just laugh, laugh and cry at the same time, trying to imagine a seemingly impossible future in which it would be possible.
"Why don't you come on in, my family's already arrived." Sherlock offered. Mr. Holmes cleared his throat a bit angrily but nodded, stepping into the house. He was carrying their dish, some sort of green bean casserole or something, and he knew he had to take it through the Holmes family to the kitchen. This was not going to be an easy task, especially when he was getting daggers glared at him from all angles. Honeybee was saying hello to Harry, who seemed especially happy to see a dog at the party.
"Well now that everyone's here, how about some tea?" John offered, taking the kettle off of the burner just as it was about to scream.
"We've only got six cups, so who wants some?" Sherlock wondered, looking around to the two families, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen. They still hadn't acknowledged each other, and Mr. Watson was still carrying the green beans. Mrs. Holmes raised her hand a bit darling, as did Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Watson. Mycroft hastily agreed to a cup, and Harry shrugged as if it were some great burden to drink a cup of tea. That left one more, and they decided that it would go to John, as none of the fathers wanted to drink a cup of tea, dare it seem that they were normal.
"Can I take that Mr. Watson?" Sherlock wondered, walking up to Mr. Watson and extending a hand for the green beans. John's father stared at him a little bit, his eyes slanted in confusion, obviously not expecting such an act of kindness from the spawn of the Holmes gamily.
"Yes, thank you Sherlock." He agreed hastily, his throat sounding very hoarse. Sherlock smiled, taking the casserole from his arms and walking over to the counter with it, setting it down next to the creamed corn. Over all it seemed like they were going to have a very nice spread of food, which was good because he wasn't sure how this turkey was going to turn out. John had put him in charge this year, and Sherlock had absolutely no idea what to do. It was currently sitting in the oven, he could only assume it was cooking but it was probably just burning. He made sure the batteries were in the smoke detector, because the last thing they needed was a house fire.
"Let's move to the living room." Sherlock suggested once all of the cups of tea had been handed out. Mycroft just bounced his tea bag up in down in the hot water, staring rather agressivley in Mr. Watson's direction.
"I call the recliner!" Hamish cried, dashing over to the comfy chair.
"No Hamish, that's for Mrs. Hudson, you'll sit on the couch like a big boy." John insisted, and Sherlock noticed Mycroft sniggering a little bit. Obviously he didn't understand the tedious language of parenthood.
"I'm not too old to sit on the couch John, don't patronize me!" Mrs. Hudson growled, and Sherlock just rolled his eyes.
"We're not patronizing you, we're looking after you. It's about time we repaid all of those times you watched out for us." Sherlock insisted.
"Your mother paid me plenty, thank you. And it's not about the money either; it's about watching you grow up." Mrs. Hudson insisted.
"It's not the caretaking I'm talking about." Sherlock insisted, nodding his head ever so slightly in John's direction.
"I'm starting to sense that Mrs. Hudson knew a bit more than we did." Mr. Holmes decided, looking at the old woman suspiciously. She just rocked back and forth on her cane with a knowing smile spread across her dentures.
"I'm just an old woman, what do I know?" she wondered, and with that she let Hamish escort her to the comfy recliner. Sherlock and John led the procession of quiet family members, still not able to communicate in any way. They took their places on the couches, Sherlock and John sitting rather close to each other and John, to everyone's disgust, had to be squished against Mycroft as well. Sherlock pitied him greatly, because the only thing worse than sitting next to his brother is sitting next to him when he was angry, especially if you were a Watson. Since all of these boxes were checked off, Sherlock made sure John had plenty of room to edge over.
"How's the tea?" Sherlock wondered, listening to the chorus of unattractive slurping.
"Excellent, thank you dear." Mrs. Holmes said with a smile. She and Mrs. Watson were sitting on one of the smaller couches, their husbands standing next to their wives as if they were some sort of guard, making sure there were no family fist fights.
"Do you want a sip?" John muttered to Sherlock, holding out the tea cup on its saucer.
"What type is it?" Sherlock wondered, peering over the rim at the tea bag bubbling under the surface.
"Some sort of lemon thing, I know you like that, that's why I asked." John muttered.
"No sugar?" Sherlock wondered.
"No sugar." John agreed. Sherlock sighed, he always liked sugar, but he just nodded, taking the cup from John and taking a small little sip.
"Oh, that's good." He decided with a little smile.
"I can get you a cup if you want." John offered, looking desperate for a reason to get up.
"I'm fine, thanks love." Sherlock muttered. John just smiled, a little blush appearing in his cheeks.
"Repulsive." Mycroft muttered, and just then did Sherlock realize the entire family was watching in a dead silence. Sherlock smiled kind of guiltily, seeing Harry watching him from the ground, sitting against the wall with an accusing little smile.
"Sorry brother mine." Sherlock snapped, and Mycroft's scowl widened. Overall it was the most awkward family time one could possibly imagine. Sherlock and John tried to keep up conversation, but Mrs. Hudson and Hamish were the only ones that would respond, the rest would just make little grunting noises or one word answers, staring at the other family with fire in their eyes. Sherlock had never been so happy to hear a buzzer go off in his life.
"The turkey is ready!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and nearly causing Mycroft to drop his teacup.
"Sherlock do control yourself." He snapped. Sherlock wasn't listening; however, he was moving the bowl of mashed potatoes and simmering gravy to make room for the turkey. He pulled it out of the oven and placed the magnificent bird on the stove top, turning the oven off and admiring his work. It actually looked, well, fabulous. It was perfectly brown and the skin was sizzling and bubbling, it looked amazing. The smell was enough to gravitate the other family members to the kitchen, all huddling in to get a good look at the main course.
"You made that?" Mrs. Holmes wondered, and Sherlock nodded proudly.
"He insisted on it this year." John agreed.
"It looks wonderful dear." Mrs. Watson decided, and Sherlock couldn't help but look back in surprise. She stood there, kind of in the spotlight, but nodded in assurance, as if she were trying to prove herself for speaking in anyway positively about the Holmes family.
"Alright, everyone take your seats, John, Hamish, could you help me bring everything over?" Sherlock asked. Hamish nodded, grabbing the bowl of potatoes and John grabbed the corn and the beans. There were also rolls in a basket, cranberry sauce on the stove, and gravy in a little boat on the table. Everything looked wonderful but nothing compared to the turkey, which Sherlock proudly brought to the table himself. As expected the two families sat on either side of the table, the fathers sitting at the opposite heads, their wives next to them and their oldest at their other side. That left Mrs. Hudson and Hamish sitting awkwardly in the middle. There were only two seats left, right across from each other. John took the one next to Hamish and Sherlock sat next to Mrs. Hudson, who smiled as if this were some big honor. She probably never would've thought she would be sitting here either, next to the moody depressed teenager she forced to even come downstairs. Sherlock had changed so much since his teenage years he wouldn't even recognize himself. Maybe it was because he was social, maybe because he had a husband and a son and friends. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he was happy, an emotion previously unknown to the boy.
"Well then, we should all start with what we're thankful for." Mrs. Hudson insisted, and Sherlock groaned a bit internally. This could never be good. The table was silent; everyone was looking this way and that, wondering who would have the guts to start.
"I'll start." Hamish decided, holding his hand up like he wanted to ask a question in school.
"Perfect, go ahead buddy." John insisted. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at his son's enthusiasm and his husband's encouragement.
"I'm happy for my friend Archie, and my teacher Mrs. Thomas, and for Honeybee and for my dads and my action figures." Hamish said very quickly, his feet kicking under the table while he talked. Sherlock couldn't help but laugh, clapping his hands a little bit. The rest of the families joined in; making the saddest little golfing clap the world has ever heard. Hamish smiled proudly, sinking back in his chair.
"What are you happy for Uncle Mycroft?" he wondered, and Mycroft laughed a little bit, straightening his tie proudly.
"I'm happy that Holmes Enterprises is above Watson Consolidated by two percent in the most recent polls." Mycroft said with a sly little smile, and Mr. Watson got to his feet angrily.
"You take that back boy, take it back!" he growled. As soon as he got to his feet there was a lot of yelling, Mrs. Watson trying to tell her husband to calm down, Mr. Holmes yelling at Mycroft for being so foolish, John calling for peace, Mrs. Hudson calling for turkey, and with Honeybee joining in on all the excitement it sounded more like a boxing ring than a family dinner. Sherlock could only groan, sitting back in his chair and trying to be ready to duck when the first silverware was thrown. Once again, their family dinner was a disaster. Obviously no amount of screaming was going to calm this family feud, but it seemed that all it took was a single tear to fall down Hamish's cheek until everything was silent. Mr. Watson sunk back into his chair in shame, dropping the carving knife he had been thrusting at Mycroft's head. Mycroft dropped the roll he was about to throw, Mrs. Holmes let loose of her husband's jacket, Harry even put down her phone. For some reason Mrs. Hudson was struggling to put her dentures back in, but even she paused to watch what was about to unfold. Hamish sat in his chair with tears running down his little face, looking absolutely heartbroken.
"Hamish what's the matter?" Sherlock wondered, looking over the table at his son.
"Why can't we be a normal family?" he asked in a sad voice. "Why can't we just get along?"
"Hamish, you know there's always been a feud between our two families." John insisted, patting his head. The tears didn't stop.
"But who cares, so what if you're competing businesses, so what? Your sons got married, you're related now so why can't you just cooperate?" he whined. There was a silence so tangible it could be cut like the turkey, and for a moment the two families sat there, thinking about what was just said. Hamish had a point, of course he did, but some were just too immature to accept wisdom from a nine year old.
"Hamish there are some certain...politics, that go into this." Mycroft offered, and yet Hamish didn't stop crying.
"He's right, of course he's right." Sherlock insisted, sitting up straighter in his chair. "Why can't you two just get along? Your sons are married for god's sake, we were able to put aside the blood and learn to love, why can't you all do the same?" Mycroft looked very uncomfortable now; of course he was going to be the last one to shake hands with a Watson.
"We're both competing families, making the same product, but Sherlock and I share last names, why can't you do the same?" John wondered. Sherlock blinked in confusion, he didn't see that coming at all.
"Do you mean...merge companies?" Mrs. Holmes asked.
"Sherlock Holmes-Watson, John Watson-Holmes." Sherlock muttered. "Holmes and Watson Incorporated." There was a deadly silence, and for a moment everyone just sat there in silence, trying to process what was being suggested.
"I'm not going to..." Mr. Watson started, but Hamish's crying increased, and he stared down the other end of the table at Mr. Holmes, who was staring right back. They were both thinking the same thing, even though they didn't want to admit it.
"It would make the competition a lot simpler." Mr. Holmes pointed out.
"A monopoly of the steel business, working side by side." Mr. Watson muttered, staring down the table but not looking at anything.
"It might work." Mr. Holmes muttered.
"It just might." Mr. Watson agreed. Mycroft made a sound of disgust, but Hamish finally smiled, wiping his tears on his shirt sleeve and looking around the table at the two families.
"This is crazy." Mrs. Hudson decided, readjusting her dentures and checking her reflection in her spoon.
"You're telling me." Harry muttered, texting away to whoever decided they wanted to curse themselves with her information. Sherlock smiled at John over the table, who smiled back with a sense of accomplishment in his eyes.
"Well then...how about some turkey?" Sherlock suggested, grabbing the carving knife from Mr. Watson's side of the table and beginning to serve. It was a crazy idea, it really was, but after that Thanksgiving, something changed between the two families. Even though it took a couple of years, and after countless debates with legal teams and economic advisors and press conferences, the impossible was achieved. A Holmes and a Watson finally shook hands, and with Sherlock, John, and Hamish as witnesses, the companies of Holmes Enterprises and Watson Consolidated fell to the ashes. The same fires that had consumed Sherlock's sadness and John's regret burned straight through the heart of the families, burning through even the companies' names. And from the ashes rose a new company, a new beginning. Holmes and Watson Incorporated.