Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

John had been yammering on all week about the new coffee shop that recently opened up down the street. Sherlock didn’t know what all the fuss was about; coffee was coffee. Why go any further than the cafe downstairs, especially when the owner gave the inhabitants of 221 Baker Street such large discounts?  

“You don’t know what you’re missing, Sherlock,” John told him as he tugged on his gloves and prepared to venture out into the elements. The snow was falling thick and fast, and the wind made the temperature feel that much colder. Sherlock snorted.

“What’s so special about this coffee shop?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, first of all, the franchise is world-famous. Second, they make these specially flavoured coffees during the holiday season, and they’re simply amazing.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Twenty minutes later, John trudged back into the flat. His cheeks and nose were flushed pink, and his hair glistened with droplets of melted snow, highlighting both gold and silver. A wide grin threatened to split his face in two.

Sherlock thought he looked, quite frankly, adorable.

“Cheers, Sherlock,” John crowed, lifting his holiday-themed cup in a mock salute. “Hot and tasty peppermint mocha from Starbucks.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. Peppermint candy was one thing -- candy canes, and all that -- but to put it in a beverage?

Chapter Text

Once unbundled, John sat down at their shared desk with his Starbucks drink and popped open his laptop.  Sherlock watched him from his slouched position on the sofa while he idly plucked at his violin. After a few mouse clicks and taps on the keyboard, Sherlock rolled his eyes. Online shopping. Dull.

“Have you updated your wish list yet, Sherlock?”

“My what?”

John sighed. “Your Amazon wish list. You know, so that people know what to get you for Christmas?”

“Just get me a gift card, John. That’ll be more than adequate.”

“I will not just be getting you a gift card, Sherlock. I want to make a special effort this year, make it -- special. Because, you know…” he waved his hand, eyes intent on his computer screen.

“Because it’s our first Christmas as a couple. While I understand the sentiment, John, it’s really not necessary.”

The tapping stopped. John stared at Sherlock, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“I thought Mycroft was the one who hated Christmas.”

“He is. I like it well enough.“

“But?”

“But expectations are always so high that there’s bound to be disappointments, and obligations can be so stifling.”

John looked thoughtful. “That’s true. Tell you what. Let’s just keep the celebration between the three of us this year. The rest? We just won’t bother.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock frowned. “The three of us?”

As if on cue, Mrs Hudson tapped on the door. “Yoo hoo!” she said, walking in without invitation. She brought in a tray carrying their tea and a fruitcake. Sherlock forgot to be annoyed at the interruption, his mouth watering. Mrs Hudson’s fruitcake was his favourite holiday delicacy. John didn’t care for it much, but that was all right -- that meant more for Sherlock.

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock exclaimed. “My favourite landlady, bringing us special treats.” He smiled at her, but made no effort to move.

John rolled his eyes. He got up and took the tray from her, setting it on the table. “Thank you, Mrs Hudson, you are a treasure. You look nice today! Special occasion?”

Sherlock’s eyes flicked over her form: burgundy dress, brand new, matching shoes and nail polish, hair newly styled and frosted, gold necklace that was recently received as a gift, eyes twinkling and devoid of any anxiety.

“Date, relationship fairly new, we haven’t had the pleasure, intimacy has not progressed beyond a few snogs, not married -- in fact, longtime widower -- congratulations, Mrs Hudson. This one just might work out.”

“Sherlock!”

“It’s okay, John. He’s right; I’ve got a good feeling about this one. Now eat up, boys. There’s more where that came from; I spent the entire day baking.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock stood by the window and watched Mrs Hudson as she exited out into the night. Snowfall had tapered off, leaving a picturesque dusting on the ground. Darkness descended so early these days; it felt much later than it actually was.

“Soon there’ll be enough snow to have a snowball fight. If it doesn’t all melt, that is,” John said. He was sitting at the desk filling out Christmas cards. It warmed Sherlock through and through, knowing that he was signing each one ‘Sherlock and John’.

Sherlock shuddered. “That sounds highly unpleasant. Getting cold and wet for no good purpose at all.”

“What, you don’t like any winter sports?”

Sherlock snorted. “Not unless they’re of the indoor variety, where one can remain warm and dry.”

John looked up, his expression lascivious. “Really? Would the ‘dry’ part be absolutely necessary? Because I can think of a few indoor activities…”

“Really, John. I was thinking along the lines of Cluedo, poker, chess, baking…”

John laughed. “Right. I can see you playing chess, but none of those other - examples. Although I’ll bet you’d excel at bedroom activities.” John’s gaze grew heated. Sherlock felt a shiver of arousal.

“Well, Mrs Hudson will be gone for several hours. What do you reckon? Shall we risk it?” Sherlock rumbled, deliberately lowering his voice to a sultry baritone.

Chapter Text

They did risk it, making love in front of the fireplace. They dragged out every blanket, duvet and pillow in the flat, creating a love nest more comfortable than their actual bed. Afterwards they fell asleep in the fire’s glow, waking at two in the morning and never knowing whether or not Mrs Hudson had looked in on them before retiring.

John was up bright and early the next morning, per usual. By the time Sherlock stumbled out of their room at noon, the flat was already halfway to looking and smelling like Santa’s workshop. A pleasing aroma wafted up from the downstairs flat, along with sounds of culinary activity. The walls (and floors) of the building were never so thin as at Christmas time.

The smell of pine permeated the entire sitting room. Sherlock blinked at the tree standing in front of the window, already decorated with lights, tinsel and baubles. A wreath with a red bow graced the entrance to the flat. Other decorations and holiday bric a brac were scattered throughout, including a Santa hat perched on the skull and a nativity scene placed center stage on the mantel. A sprig of mistletoe hung from the kitchen entryway.

John stood next to the tree, holding an angel figurine and looking sheepish.

“I have need of a tall bloke.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock obliged, placing the angel on top of the tree, then looked at John in amazement.

John blushed. “Yeah. Um… I know you enjoy the atmosphere of Christmas but don’t enjoy the crowds or social aspects of it, so I went ahead and, um, picked up a few things. Also raided some of Mrs Hudson’s stuff. If you want we can decorate the bedroom together? Maybe put up a small artificial tree -- “

Sherlock trapped John’s startled face between his hands and captured his lips in a kiss that expressed all of his gratitude and joy. When he drew back, John’s eyes were shining.

“What was that for?” he whispered.

“For creating my best Christmas ever.”

John laughed. “The season has barely begun.”

“It’s already the best.”

John smiled. “Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Mrs Hudson said to bring you down for lunch when you finally got up. You are, so… shower and get dressed, yeah?”

Sherlock smiled. “Of course, John.” He grinned as he slipped into the bathroom. He loved to say and do the unexpected, especially now that their relationship status had changed. It was so entertaining to observe John’s reactions.

That evening the flat was cold, but Sherlock was cozy and warm, sugarplums dancing in his head as he snuggled with John under a blanket.

Chapter Text

Sherlock was surprised at the number of Christmas cards they had received already. John had arranged them so that they hung from a garland that surrounded the mirror above the fireplace. Sherlock normally didn’t pay attention to things like that, but somehow the sight of them elicited an inexplicable feeling of warmth in his chest. Fascinating.

He drew up short when he walked into the kitchen and saw the cake sitting in the middle of the table. A cake ablaze with candles.

“What’s this?”

John turned from the sink, wiping his hands with a towel. “It’s Mrs Hudson’s birthday! I wanted to surprise her. She’s on her way up now.”

Sherlock blinked at the large round cake with pink icing and white candles. “That’s only thirty-five candles.”

“Yes, well, there’s only so much space. I figure half the correct number is a good compromise.”

“You’d need a few more -- “

“Close enough, Sherlock.”

“I didn’t know it was Mrs Hudson’s birthday.”

“I know, right? The only reason I found out is because Mrs Turner called our landline by mistake and left a voicemail. The sneaky minx, keeping a secret like that all these years, and from you no less!”

“Yes,” Sherlock muttered. “A serious oversight on my part.”

“I hear her coming! And she’s bringing those treats you like, those chocolate biscuits.”

Chapter Text

“Tim Tams.”

“What?”

Sherlock and John were seated in their respective chairs, legs stretched out so that their stockinged feet caught the warmth. Mrs Hudson’s impromptu party had gone off splendidly. Both admonished her for keeping such a secret from them, and promised to take her out for an expensive dinner come the weekend to make up for all the missed years.

“The chocolate biscuits that I like. They’re called Tim Tams. Honestly John, they may be made in Australia but they aren’t exactly rare here.”

“Well, they’re certainly not a plentiful commodity. I just go with Jammie Dodgers, generally.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of your strawberry jam fixation, John.”

“Oi! Just because chocolate isn’t my favourite sweet…”

“How dare you be such a Scrooge? Chocolate is essential for the holiday experience.”

“For beverages or pudding, I would agree. And how do you know who Scrooge is?”

Sherlock huffed. “I’m not completely illiterate.”

John grinned. He reached out with his foot to nudge Sherlock’s. “No? Who wrote A Christmas Carol, then?”

“George Dickens, of course.”

“George - seriously, Sherlock?”

“Oh, what now?”

“It’s just - “

The doorbell rang. Huh, he could have sworn it was still in the freezer.

They looked at each other.

“Double ring.”

“Maximum pressure just over the - oh, for God’s sake! What is he doing here?”

“Who?”

“My brother.”

Chapter Text

“I’m surprised you didn’t just barge in like you normally do. Why are you here so late?”

“Good evening to you too, John. I’m here at Mummy’s request; she wants to know if you and Sherlock will be attending Christmas dinner this year.”

“That’s kind of you, Mycroft. But we’ve decided to keep the celebration within Baker Street this year. Keep it simple and stress-free, you understand.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sherlock spat. “You could have just texted or called to get that information, Mycroft.”

“Of course I could have. But I wanted to drop off your gifts, knowing as I did what your answer would be.” Mycroft held up a bag full of brightly wrapped packages.

“Oh well done, Mycroft,” Sherlock said. “Good deduction, that.”

John rolled his eyes as he relieved Mycroft of his burden. “Thank you. We, er, that is to say…”

“Those are from Mummy and Dad, John. Don’t worry, they don’t expect reciprocation. That’s what parents do.”

“Er… right. I’ll give them a call, express our thanks.”

“Uncle Rudy was the one who made a big production out of Christmas. Always insisting on getting the whole extended family together every year.”

Sherlock shivered. “Yes. It’s good to escape the ghosts of Christmases past.”

“Indeed. Well, I’ll take my leave. Happy holidays, Sherlock, John.”

“Don’t forget your brolly!”

Chapter Text

“The first presents under our tree! Looks nice, yeah? You know not all of them are from your parents, right? Mycroft picked out some of them.”

After that rude interruption, Sherlock and John were once again ensconced in their chairs, this time facing the tree and with eggnog in hand. The sitting room lights were turned off, while the faerie-lights on the tree twinkled and the flames in the fireplace danced. The doorbell was in the freezer again where it belonged.

John was wearing his white-and-blue striped jumper, Sherlock’s favourite. He looked rather young, sitting here in the semi-darkness. Young and carefree. Wrinkles and silver strands hidden. Not that either one of them were old, although they were both on the wrong side of forty.

“Wrong according to whom?” Sherlock could hear Lestrade’s voice in his head. It sounded indignant; of course it would, given that its owner had recently turned fifty.

“What?” John asked, smiling. “Do I have eggnog on my face?”

“What?” Sherlock shook himself. “Oh. No. I was just thinking how handsome you look, right now.”

John grinned. “As opposed to every other time, when I look like a troll?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Of course not. The unique interplay of light and shadow happen to highlight your… assets.”

John giggled. “My assets.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Like my bum?”

Chapter Text

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, John, your arse is quite luscious. Do you enjoy fishing for compliments?”

“Only because they work.”

“It’s past midnight,” Sherlock said.  “Isn’t that the witching hour, when magic is at its strongest? Well then. Let’s put your charms to good use, shall we?” He jerked his head towards their bedroom. “As in right now, Wizard Watson.”

John straightened his spine. His expression grew severe and his eyes glinted like ice. A spike of arousal shot down Sherlock’s spine.

“Don’t forget who’s in charge here, Sherlock. I’m the one with all the power. That being said, in exactly ten minutes I expect to find you on the bed, in a certain position, waiting for me. Is that clear?”

Sherlock couldn’t scramble to the bedroom fast enough.

+++

The next day was spent helping Lestrade solve a series of burglaries, the MO of which consisted of break-ins at various charities and stealing donated money and gifts meant for underprivileged children. They did catch the trio towards the tail-end of the afternoon, after a foot chase through alleys and over rooftops. Flooded with adrenaline, Sherlock and John tumbled through the door of 221b, exhilarated and ravenous.

Later, with full bellies, John stood at the door beaming at holiday carolers while Sherlock matched them note for note with violin and bow.

Chapter Text

When John had suggested decorating their bedroom, Sherlock hadn’t quite expected this. They had created a virtual winter wonderland within this warm, cosy space. A three-foot artificial tree sat on the end table with several white-and-blue snowflake ornaments hanging from the branches. White cottony fabric surrounded the tree, giving off the impression of fresh fluffy snow. The same fabric was draped over the mantelpiece above the faux fireplace, on which was placed several ceramic houses meant to portray a Christmas village. Two handmade stockings hung there stitched with bold black letters spelling ‘Sherlock’ and ‘John’.  

That wasn’t all, either. Several large decorations in the shape of snowflakes hung from the ceiling directly above their bed. A lifesize three-dimensional snowman, five feet tall and made of fabric, stood in one corner of the room while a similar figure, this one of Father Christmas, stood in the adjacent corner.

“Mrs Hudson made the stockings,” John explained as they stood back to survey the results of their afternoon. “The snowman and Santa I ordered after Boxing Day last year, dirt cheap.” He crossed his arms and grinned, clearly chuffed. “What do you think? Christmassy enough for you?”

Sherlock huffed. “I’ll admit it was quite fun, but a lot of effort for something just the two of us will enjoy.”

“Worth it, for my boyfriend.”

Chapter Text

Sherlock blinked. He objectively knew that he was John’s boyfriend, but this was the first time it had been verbalised. They had told the people who mattered that they were ‘together’, and that had been that. Introductions to strangers were along the lines of ‘This is my partner’, which was honestly not that different than before.

Still, Sherlock felt a soft glow warming his belly and moving up into his chest. He’d had a couple of months now to get used to that feeling, but it continued to take him by surprise during moments such as this.

Sentimental moments.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “It’ll do,” he said. “It adequately reflects the spirit of the holidays. Tasteful, yet festive.”

John snorted. “Glad it has your stamp of approval. It’s not posh, but it is adequate.”

“Posh doesn’t suit us,” Sherlock said. John turned to look at him, his expression warm and bright.

Sherlock felt as if he could melt into a puddle of goo right then and there. He needed to focus these emotions onto an appropriate activity before he embarrassed himself.

He reached out his hand. “Come with me,” he ordered.

Ten minutes later they were swaying in front of the fire to a recording of Sherlock’s composition. Sherlock’s nose was buried in John’s hair, which smelled like pine needles.

Brilliant.

Chapter Text

Sherlock frowned at the television. It wasn’t that he wasn’t comfortable -- he was stretched out on the sofa with his head in John’s lap, body covered by a fleece blanket -- but he was confused by what was playing out on screen. An adult American actor with curly blond hair (Bill? Will?) was dressed as a Christmas elf, and his antics reflected that of a ten-year-old boy more than a grown man.

“Why are we watching this?” Sherlock asked. The fingers playing in his hair paused for a second before resuming their task.

“Remember how I signed us up to be Santa’s helpers at the Scotland Yard Christmas party? Passing out presents to the kids? No? Of course not. Anyway, I cancelled because we decided we weren’t doing any of that this year. The party is tonight, so I thought we’d watch someone else doing what we would be doing: that is, prancing around in a silly getup.”

“Ah.”

“Plus it’s just an excuse to watch it with you. It’s one of my favourite holiday films.”

“Not very realistic though, is it? I mean, there’s not actually a list keeping track of who’s been naughty or nice. ‘Nice’ is completely subjective, a social construct -- “

“Sherlock.” John tightened his grasp on Sherlock’s hair. “You’re on my list. So you’d better watch out.”

Bugger.

Chapter Text

The case was solved in less than a day, but it rated at least an eight. The solution came to him as he stood over the frozen corpse (obviously frozen elsewhere and dumped here, given that the temperature overnight had warmed up enough that everything around was thawing), deductions sparking in his mind and racing to the undeniable conclusion.

Four hours later the culprit had been apprehended, and two hours after that Sherlock and John were seated at Angelo’s for their usual post-case celebration. It may have been quickly solved, but it had required considerable brain and leg work. The two of them were tired and hungry, but satisfied with a job well done.

The temperature was mild, so they chose to meander and do some window-shopping afterwards.  Feeling playful, Sherlock unwound his scarf and draped it around John’s neck.

“I should commission Mrs Hudson to knit you a scarf as well,” Sherlock remarked.

“Mrs Hudson made this for you?”

“Yes. A present for the Christmas after - the first Christmas without her husband.”

“Ah. A thank you gift then.”

Sherlock smiled. “Indeed.”

They enjoyed themselves for another half hour before returning to Baker Street. The rest of the evening passed without incident.

Then they both woke at 2 am, sneezing and coughing.

John sniffled, “Guess we both caught the Christmas bug.”

Chapter Text

“John, Sherlock’s not answering his phone. We have another one for you.”

“Already? We just solved one yesterday! Sorry, Greg, I don’t think we can help this time. We’ve both got congestion, headaches, and Sherlock has a sore throat. Hopefully just a twenty-four hour thing, but I think it’s best if we stay indoors today. We don’t want to spread our germs around to anyone else either.”

“Ah. That’s probably best then. What’s it like dealing with Himself when he’s sick? I hope he isn’t being any more demanding than usual.”

“Nah, he’s been sleeping it off for most of the day. Hasn’t been too bad. Mrs Hudson has been spoiling us with soup and hot drinks. Plus she made a Yule log that’s quite tasty.”

“Sounds like being a tad under the weather is paying off for you boys. Lucky nobs.”

John grunted. “Bloody inconvenient is what it is. Makes you lethargic enough to not want to go anywhere, but not sick enough to keep from being bored. Sherlock’s lucky he can sleep. Or rather, I’m lucky he can sleep. Means he’s not tormenting me.”

Greg laughed. “All too true. All right mate, this one isn’t urgent, either we solve it or it can wait for whenever he’s up to it.”

“Ta, Greg.”

+++

“John! I need Lemsip now,” Sherlock barked.

Chapter Text

Our boys spent the remainder of the day resting and recovering, hoping to halt the illness in its tracks. ‘Twas the season to bombard television viewers with holiday fare, so that’s what most of their late afternoon/evening was spent doing. When Sherlock started complaining around seven about ‘mawkish drivel, honestly John, why is plot such a hard thing to grasp’, John knew that he was on his way to a full recovery.

Sherlock could put up with mindless telly on a limited basis, but when circumstances required him to remain still for a certain length of time, boredom invariably snuck in and he got snappish. He tried to rein in this tendency as much as he could, for John’s sake, but some days sorely tested his limits. Unless it included hours spent in his mind palace, an entire day of inactivity was torture for him.  

Unlike Mycroft, who could apparently spend hours engaging in neither legwork nor brainwork and still be content.

Sherlock’s thoughts wandered to the gifts he had arranged for John. His mention to John of having a scarf knitted for him hadn’t been a lark. Only it wasn’t Mrs Hudson doing the knitting. He had also purchased an all-weather coat for John as well.

He was getting excited. Hopefully they had nipped this sickness in the bud.

Chapter Text

“Because it’s a family tradition, that’s why!”

“Not in my family it isn’t. Frankly, it sounds revolting and -- slimy.”

“No, in my family, you git. Mum let Harry and me help make it, every Christmas Eve. Then after our parents were gone, the two of us continued the tradition for many years.”

“But oyster stew, John?”

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Sherlock.”

“I must admit, that it has a pleasing aroma.”

“See?”

“Why are you making it now, though? It’s not Christmas Eve.”

“Practice run. To adjust for your taste and preferences. Now, tell me what your favourite Christmas tradition is.”

Sherlock’s face turned a bright pink. “Well, I haven’t done it yet. But when I first kiss you while standing under the mistletoe, that’ll be it. But I’m saving it up for Christmas Day.”

John smiled. “I see. I’ll be honoured to be a major part of making that happen.”

“John. You are the only relevant part.”

“Why you old romantic. Why don’t you come here and taste test this for me?”

Sherlock gave the pot a sceptical look. “I’m not sure about this.”

“And why not? You do know that oysters are an aphrodisiac, right?” John waggled his eyebrows and made suggestive noises.

Sherlock’s face brightened. “Well then, what are you waiting for? Pass me a bowl!”

Chapter Text

The oyster stew did, indeed, lead to amorous activities. The stew itself wasn’t bad either, Sherlock had to admit. Or maybe that was just the post-coital haze affecting his thinking processes.

“Father Christmas is staring at me,” Sherlock complained, referring to the life-size figure standing in the corner. “It’s creepy.”

“Feeling guilty? Have you been a naughty boy?” John teased. He reclined next to Sherlock on the bed as he pecked away on his laptop.

“What could you possibly be doing on the computer right this minute?” Sherlock grumbled. “Whatever happened to the post-sex cuddling?”

John laughed. “That’s what we were doing for the past, oh, thirty minutes? Now I’m being productive.”

“By what, transcribing our sexcapade onto your blog?”

“Funny. You’re a funny man.”

“I thought I was a bad man.”

“Well, sometimes, yeah.”

“What exactly are you typing?” Sherlock leaned in. John immediately snapped the laptop shut. But not before Sherlock got a glimpse of the word “Expedia”.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. Was John making travel plans?

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” John singsonged.

“Oh, really? You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

"Yep. The same guy I was shagging not one hour ago.”

“And you think that allows you to be cheeky?”

“Who else am I allowed to be cheeky with in bed?”