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John smiles and hands one of his guests a flute of champagne from his tray. Mary has decked out their flat in fairy lights and tinsel, and a tree stands in the corner. Their friends mingle, faces flushed with holiday cheer and the fire’s warmth, lit to chase away winter’s dreariness on this solstice night.
John looks for her golden hair, and spots Mary handing Darin a plate with a slice of ginger cake. They laugh over something John can’t hear, and John shakes his head in wonder. It’s been several months gone it’s still something to get used to- Sherlock replying to invitations plus-one.
John had watched Sherlock's early, awkward stages of courtship with astonishment. More so, he had felt honored that he had been allowed to quietly advise his bewildered best friend. While it was true Sherlock was a genius, he had been completely out of his depth when it came to love.
No, Sherlock that sensation in your chest isn’t atrial fibrillation.
Yes Sherlock, it’s perfectly normal to have disagreements, especially since you are a wanker.
Sherlock, you both really should get new blood screens done, just to be sure.
Now, things between the two seemed to be settling into a lovely routine, and Darin was making himself a place in their lives. John wasn’t surprised to see Darin and Mary standing closely together- they had become good friends, and that seemed fitting, too. Especially if Mary’s prediction was right, and a wedding, of all the improbable things, could be in Darin's and Sherlock's future.
Mary looks up, catching John studying them, and gives him a wink. John smiles back and works his way over to them. John offers them all champagne then snags a flute for himself before setting down his tray.
“Happy Christmas, John!” Darin greets him.
John glaces above the door frame Darin is leaning against.
Following John’s eyes, Mary titters. “Darin, mistletoe.”
Darin looks up, his eyes going wide through his glasses.
“Oh. Viscum album . It’s an evergreen hemi-parasitic and propagates through berry-eating birds. It contains the alkaloid tyramine, which doesn’t bother the birds, but humans shouldn’t ingest it because it can cause gastrointestinal upset.”
Mary is trying not to snigger behind her glass. Sherlock chooses that moment to appear, and sidles behind quietly, and listens to Darin rattle on with an arched eyebrow.
“Now in North America, what they call ‘mistletoe’ is Phoradendron serotinum . That contains phoratoxin, which…hey!”
Sherlock grabs Darin’s elbow and turns him around.
“Oh my god. You are making an arse of yourself,” Sherlock proclaims.
Sherlock then swoops down and presses a quick, chaste kiss to Darin’s lips. John does laugh then, mostly at Darin’s stunned stare.
“Yes, right. Christmas mistletoe,” Darin replies, flushing at his own awkwardness. He downs most of his drink in two gulps, to cover his embarrassment.
Sherlock rolls his eyes and sighs. “Obviously.”
John catches the quick flash of affection that sneaks its way through Sherlock’s mask of irritation. John laughs again, more from happiness than humor.
John pats Darin on the shoulder with a grin. Maybe Mary is right. Perhaps next year, or the year after, Darin and Sherlock would have a happy announcement to celebrate. Since Sherlock’s return, life had given them all stranger gifts- second chances and new beginnings.
John lifts his own glass. “Happy new year, you two.”