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Everything looks a bit different with Christmas all over it. Store fronts become seasonal exhibitions, city parks become light displays, and dingy flats become just a little bit cheerier. Of course, the first step in achieving such a show is a proper mess.
Despite her hip, Mrs. Hudson has been remarkably helpful, moving boxes full of ornaments and lights from the spare flat and her own supply to the boys’ home. The only condition was that she be allowed to come up and see the final result sometimes. Sherlock and John pretended to waffle on this matter but honestly, they wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, sitting on the couch and untangling the tiny hooks that seem to re-tangle themselves every year, Mrs. Hudson can hardly stifle her own excitement.
“Frank and I never really did Christmas,” she laughs, surprisingly cheerful about it. “We were always going somewhere or leaving somewhere.”
“But you’ve done Christmas since then,” John confirms, doing his best to wrap a strand of white and red lights around the tree. Hardly taller than he is, the tree itself doesn’t present too big a challenge. However, his lack of help certainly doesn’t make things any easier. He tries not to be frustrated with Sherlock for disappearing into the kitchen for so long but the more arduous his task becomes, the harder it is to be patient.
“Only with you boys,” Mrs. Hudson responds, smiling again. “I spent some time with Mrs. Turner but she’s only interesting for a short while really.”
John laughs stiffly and puts down the string of lights, excusing himself as politely as he can manage. Stepping over another box of lights, a box of ornaments, the tree skirt, and other miscellaneous decorations, he makes has way into the kitchen.
That’s when he discovers that Sherlock owns an apron.
Of course, discovering it hanging in the closet or some such wouldn’t have been nearly as satisfying, and for a moment he can only think how lucky he is to have walked in on Sherlock actually wearing the apron. With flour on his face and in his curls, the man leans against the counter by the stove, poring over a faded red cookbook.
“Sherlock? What’re you doing?” John asks, hiding his smile behind a curious expression.
Startled, Sherlock turns around, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted help. I didn’t expect this to take so long,” he responds, turning red.
“Didn’t expect what to take so long?” Stepping closer to Sherlock and letting his smile reveal itself, John is surprised to discover a wide assortment of baked goods on the counter. “What is all this?” he asks, shocked.
Pumpkin pies, chocolate mint pudding, fudge, tarts, apple crisp, and berry cobbler are on display along the counter in such quantity that John wonders how he didn’t see them before.
“It’s for Christmas,” Sherlock responds, almost defensively despite the growing smile on his own face.
“You did all this yourself? In the past hour?”
“Of course by myself, you haven’t seen anyone else come in here, have you? You really aren’t very observant, you didn’t even notice the smell. But it has taken longer than an hour, you’ve been fighting with those lights longer than you think you have I’m afraid,” Sherlock responds, allowing a full grin to spread. Leaning forward, he places his hands on either side of John’s face and plants a kiss firmly on his mouth.
“Oh, bugger off you sod, I am doing a fine job of the lights,” John responds. But really, he can’t argue with a good kiss.