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As it turns out, there’s not very much Sherlock Holmes doesn’t like about the Christmas season. From the impending snow in the forecast, to the fresh scent of pine pervading 221B, everything is a little bit cheerier for the great detective when Christmas is around the corner. This particular day, he has discovered the resurrection of an activity too much like dancing for him to turn down.
In a city as big as London, it should be no surprise that there are a number of places hosting this wondrous event, and Sherlock finds himself hard pressed to choose their first destination. John, however, is less eager to be dragged around the city. Of course, John doesn’t know where they’re going.
“I’m trying to be nice about this,” John huffs, following behind Sherlock in a puffy grey coat. “Because you’ve been nice about everything else so far. But it’s freezing outside and I can only be nice about aimless wandering for so long.”
Sherlock doesn’t even bother to scowl when he glances over his shoulder, a feat that surprises John. “You’re going to have fun, and you’re dressed plenty warm. You really shouldn’t be cold,” he smiles, almost sarcastically. He had, after all, warned John to dress warmer than he thinks he needs to.
John’s expression is less pleasant than Sherlock’s, although still not quite so grumpy as to be called a scowl. Still, he manages a sour face, much to the amusement of his partner, and cuts off whatever retort he might’ve formed.
As they trudge their way up the busy streets, the number of giggling children seems to grow tremendously. It isn’t uncommon to find a Santa in one of the many city squares, parks, or shopping centers, and John doesn’t find much worth noting about this change in demographics. Still, he can’t ignore the distant singing, the rise in warm smells, and the array of lights visible ahead of them as dusk approaches. A nagging sensation in his stomach tells him he’s going to enjoy this more than he gives Sherlock credit for, and he deliberately pulls a happier expression.
Sherlock’s pace never slows. If anything, he seems to almost stride longer, step more, and all in all walk faster as they approach what can only be described as a Christmas cornucopia. Styled like a holiday bazaar, the sidewalk winds into a park full of every sort of Christmas shop and delicious aroma. Hot chocolate, warm pretzels, elephant ears, apple cider, and much much more are as present in the air as they are in the hands of eager passersby. Suddenly finding himself eager as well, John trots to keep closer pace with Sherlock.
“What is this?” he asks, never having been one to explore the more festive side of London before.
“Not our destination, I’m afraid,” Sherlock responds, smiling despite his warning. “But we can probably explore on our way out. You brought extra socks?”
John raises an eyebrow but nods. “You told me to, didn’t you? Of course I did.”
Apparently satisfied, Sherlock turns his gaze onward and interlocks his fingers with John’s, pulling him neatly through the crowd. John can’t help noticing how people part so much easier for the tall, lanky detective, than they do for his own stocky frame. Part of him wants to grumble about this fact, considering all the time he’s spent knocking his way between people in crowds, but he finds himself laughing instead.
The very sight of grace and elegance, Sherlock almost seems to skate through the park and John realizes his eyes are drawn more often to his companion than his surroundings. When he finally pulls them away, he decides that “skate” was an apt description. With childlike excitement in his eyes, Sherlock stares back at John as John stares up at an extravagant ice skating rink, set up just for the holiday season.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Sherlock asks, desperate for John to express his emotional state verbally. For all his powers of perception, the detective is hardly perceptive of emotion.
“Don’t mind? This is wonderful! I’ve never been skating,” John adds sheepishly. “I’m going to embarrass myself,” he realizes, grimacing.
Pulling him tight against his chest, Sherlock wraps his arms around John and kisses the top of his hair. “Hardly, John. I would never laugh at you,” he murmurs.
John leans back, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously. “Yes you would,” he replies.
Smiling devilishly, Sherlock shrugs. “Perhaps,” he admits. “But isn’t that the point? Something about ‘laughing all the way’?”
“That’s about a sleigh ride!” John replies, grumbling that Jingle Bells will now be stuck in his head for the rest of the day. “You’re not getting out of this.”
“And you’re not getting out of this,” Sherlock responds, smirking. He nods towards the entrance and releases John, offering a leading hand. “Shall we?”
With a playful sigh and an eager smirk, John nods as well. “We shall,” he responds, taking Sherlock’s hand.