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Sherlock closes the suitcase and buttons up his coat.
"Have you everything with you? Passport, plane ticket?" John asks, watching him from the bedroom door.
"Yes," Sherlock replies hastily, but when he looks up, he notices how upset John is. "It's an easy mission, I just have to mix up with the crowd of tourists, observe, deduce and report to Mycroft. I think I'll be home in a couple of weeks."
John nods, Sherlock has already explained to him what that mission is about, but there may always happen something unexpected, and he isn’t happy that Sherlock has to go alone. Generally speaking, he isn’t happy that Sherlock sometimes has to work for Mycroft, but unfortunately he must after what happened, it’s part of their agreement.
But, really, Mycroft has the worst timing in the world.
"Don’t do anything rash" John warns him.
"I'll be careful."
"Two weeks?"
"Maybe twenty days, but no more: these people believe to be very clever, so it’s probable that they’ll make mistakes, it will not be difficult to expose them."
John mentally counts the days, then frowns.
"So you’ll not be home for Christmas."
"No, I don’t think so."
John sighs: this year he hoped to spend the holidays with Sherlock, in the tranquility of their flat, without interferences; when he was living elsewhere, he felt a strong nostalgia for their bizarre daily life, and now he wanted to make up for lost time and, perhaps, talk about them, about...
But it’s not possible.
He hides the disappointment behind a smile and sighs again.
"Well, have a good trip," he ends lamely.
"Thanks. I'll call you when I get to the hotel."
John moves from the door to let him pass, but Sherlock pulls him in his embrace, giving him a little pat on the shoulder.
Since John has returned to live to Baker Street, those gestures have become more frequent, almost natural between them. He wanted to talk to him about that, too, damn it.
Sherlock goes down a few steps, then stops and turns his head to look at him.
"John?"
"Hm?"
"I'll try to be home for Christmas."
"All right."
In her flat, Mrs. Hudson turns on the radio and Michael Bublé's voice reaches him.
“I don't care about those presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own”
On the flight that takes him to Tallinn, Sherlock flips through the manila file that Mycroft gave him, then puts it away.
It’s not that that investigation is particularly boring, but John will not be there with him during the stakeouts, while he’s spying conversations or participating to mundane party; and, without John, even an eight case looks like a six.
He never admitted it aloud, but he missed him a lot in those years away from him, he missed his support, he missed hearing his footsteps behind his along the streets, he missed to reason aloud while John is next to him. There was a void, a great void in his life, he can’t deny it, and that mission really came in the wrong moment, when it finally seemed like they had time for them.
He will try to solve the case as quickly as possible and to return home for Christmas. However, he didn’t promise it as certain, because, along the years, he has made too many promises to John he couldn’t honour, too many times he has disappointed him, and he doesn’t want to do it any more.
Tallinn is a beautiful city, especially during winter, it looks like a postcard, and, as the taxi takes him to the hotel, Sherlock takes some pictures and sends them to John.
The answer comes in a few moments.
"It's a nice place."
"Would you like to visit it?"
"I thought it wasn’t possible."
"Not now, of course, another time."
"Do you mean a holiday?"
"Why not?"
"You never go on holiday."
"People change."
This time John's answer doesn’t come immediately, and Sherlock worries that he has said something too much, something that John is not interested in hearing, but eventually the message bubble appears on the phone's screen.
"A holiday is a brilliant idea. I heard there's a casino in Tallinn."
"Looking for new ways to squander your money?"
"You could be my lucky charm and help me win."
"Lucky charms don’t exist."
"Have you ever been someone's lucky charm?"
"No."
"Then you can’t know that."
"All right, then we have to verify this theory of yours."
"I'm counting on it."
The taxi radio diffuses the notes of a Christmas song.
“I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true”
In the following days, Sherlock often sends messages to John: photos of squares, churches, museums and monuments, or writes him some curious anecdotes about the city, or Estonia in general.
It's strange, because when Sherlock agrees to work on a case, he dedicates to it his utmost attention, he’s never distracted and doesn’t exchange messages with him to describe the history of an ancient palace, or to tell how a particular painting was acquired by a museum.
Not that John doesn’t like that change of pace; indeed, in this way he can feel closer to Sherlock even if he is miles away. That's not what he hoped for, but it's a good compromise.
One afternoon, while he’s at the clinic, he receives yet another photo of the old town of Tallinn: the square is covered with snow, there is a flea market and many tourists strolling around.
"When you said you were going to a city of the former Soviet bloc, I imagined to see only sad gray concrete buildings. Instead, looking at these photos, it seems to be in Vienna or in Geneva."
"There are also buildings dating back to the Soviet period, and the percentage of Russians living in the city is very high, but if you ask an Estonian, they will answer that their Country has much more affinity with northern Europe, especially with Finland."
"This makes me think that we often have horrible prejudices, without knowing the reality."
"To some extent it’s normal to have prejudices, it’s not totally your fault, because you absorb many external influences. For example: for political reasons, the Western media for years have painted all the Eastern European Countries in a horribly way, but they have their own beauty."
John looks at his reflection on the window glass. He had had many prejudices about Sherlock, too: in the past he had called him a machine without feelings, only interested in his riddles to win the brains challenge with a random criminal mastermind, when the real Sherlock was very different, and since he returned to Baker Street, he started to think about it.
"It doesn’t matter if we're influenced by something, prejudices are still a bad thing."
"The important thing is to understand it and to look at reality for what it is."
The secretary knocks on his door and lets him know that the next patient has arrived.
"Sorry, I have to go."
"Me too: the person I'm stalking is moved."
"Be careful."
"Always."
John is about to write "I would like to be there with you" , but he stops at the last moment: it would be embarrassing to close the conversation like that, it's not the right time. Besides, it could distract Sherlock, and John doesn’t want something to happen to him because of his message, but really, he would like to be with him right now.
In the waiting room, Michael Bublé’s voice continues to let people know what he would like for Christmas.
“You know that all I want for Christmas is you
I won’t ask for much this Christmas
I won't even wish for snow”
"Do you have any knowledge of dice games?" Sherlock writes.
"Where are you?"
John's answer is immediate. It has always been quick in these days, as if the doctor never left the phone, waiting for a message from him.
"At the casino."
"Looking for new ways to squander your money?" John jokes.
“It’s Mycroft’s money: I don’t give a toss if I lose it.”
"You’re awful. Are you there for the case?"
"Yes, I'm stalking a man. I sat down at this table where people are rolling some dice on a green table and, in order not to attract attention, I think I will have to play."
"I think you're playing Craps: the rules are quite complicated, but you should try to get a 7 or 11, or the same score as the first roll."
"John, statistic laws say this is very unlikely."
"That's why it's called gambling."
"I would rather call it a legalized scam."
"Hey, why don’t we test our theory? I could be your lucky charm."
"How?"
"I can think of blowing on your dice from here."
"John, are you drunk?"
"No you idiot. Many gamblers blow on dice because it’s said to attract luck on them."
"It’s a madness."
"I know."
"There is nothing rational in what you suggest to do."
"I know this, too."
"So why do you want to do it?"
"Have you ever tried?"
"No."
"Then you can’t know if it will work or not."
Sherlock wonders if John is talking only about the dice, or about something else.
He wonders what they are actually talking about in their messages and if, on that particular occasion, John is referring to his inability to accept things that are not rational (like feelings). Is he suggesting he should do something crazy? Try them? To step out of his securities?
"Alright, do it."
After all, what has he to lose?
"Done, I just imagined blowing on your dice."
Sherlock rolls the dice and gets a 7.
John waits patiently for Sherlock's answer, which is late to come. Several scenarios pass in his head, including the one where Sherlock has argued the rules of the game and ended up being thrown out of the casino.
"So?" He urges him.
"I won."
"See? It’s thanks to my magic touch."
Obviously John expects to be challenged instantly, but it doesn’t happen, and he doesn’t know how to read that silence, so tries with a joke.
"Have you become so rich that you’re speechless?"
"I haven’t won so much money, but I can give you a present, since it's almost Christmas. What do you want?"
"Right away, I don’t know..." John writes, although he doesn’t want anything, except that Sherlock returns home, to be able to talk to him in person, rather than through those sporadic messages.
"Think about it."
"And you?"
"Me?"
"Yes, what do you want for Christmas?"
"I don’t know."
"We're a fine couple of idiots."
"Yes, we are."
"Think about it, too."
As he leaves the casino, Sherlock thinks he knows what he wants for Christmas, but he doesn’t know if he can have it.
The speakers continue to play Christmas songs.
“I just want you here tonight
Holding on to me so tight
Girl what can I do
You know that all I want for Christmas is you”
Sherlock is still in a square in Tallinn, sitting on a bench and drinking a invigorating Russian tea, mixed with tourists who visit the Christmas markets; by now he has identified almost all the members of that criminal organization, he will close the case soon, and he lets himself be distracted by the people who walk next to him: a Finnish businessman who took a couple of days off from work, a small group of local girls looking for the last Christmas presents, two French women walking arm in arm, evidently a couple on their honeymoon.
He misses Baker Street, his violin, their living room, John laughing at his jokes, John making tea, John...
He looks down at his phone and unlocks it: it's been two days since he and John have exchanged messages. It’s true that he has worked day and night to finish that mission as quickly as possible, and didn’t have time to write, but they left something unfinished in their last conversation.
"You have never told me" he writes.
"What?" The answer is immediate, as usual.
"What do you want for Christmas. If you want an Estonian souvenir, you must hurry and ask."
"Did you finish the mission?"
"Almost."
"So you'll be home for Christmas, after all."
"I told you I would do everything to get back on time."
"Thank you."
John doesn’t add anything else, perhaps because he doesn’t want anything, perhaps Sherlock has read too deeply into their messages, ending up imaging things that aren’t real.
"I gather you're not interested in a Christmas present."
"No, you're wrong."
"Oh? Are you so undecided, then?"
"Wrong again: I know very well what I want, but you prefer to message, while this is something I'd rather ask you in person."
John didn’t expect Sherlock to call him, so he jumps when the phone rings in the silence of Baker Street.
"Hello?"
"This is the best I can do right now, even if it's not like talking to each other in person."
"No, no, that's fine."
A part of John, impatient and thrilled by the turn of the events between them, would immediately tell him what he wants, but another part of him would be content to hear his reassuring and deep voice, talking about some fun facts of Tallinn. Only now that he hears Sherlock’s voice again, he realizes how much silence there has been in his life in those two weeks: he has chatted a bit with patients and colleagues, but he hasn’t really talked to someone and has left home only to go to work.
"Regarding the gift I would like, on Christmas Eve Mike will host a dancing party and I would like to go with you, I wish we would go together; you have worked so hard to teach me to dance and I would like to do it with you, if you... "
John's voice fades out, hearing the growing silence at the other end of the line, until Sherlock clears his throat several times and finally whispers: "Are you sure the gift is for you and not for me?"
It’s as if a heavy burden had just been removed from John’s chest. He smiles in the empty room, but no longer feels alone.
"I'm positive, Sherlock."
"See you in a couple of days, then."
"I can’t wait."
John ends the call, leans on the window pane and hums the melody of a song.
"I can hear those sleigh bells ringing
Santa won't you bring me the one I really love
Won't you please bring my baby to me”
Sherlock completes the report for Mycroft, sends it and turns off the computer, but when he looks up at the window, he frowns: it's snowing heavily and, judging by the white blanket that covers roofs and roads, it started several hours ago.
The suitcase is ready, so he takes it and leaves the room quickly, checks out and asks for a cab to the airport.
"It will take some time," the concierge warns him.
Sherlock looks at the gray sky with his eyes full of hatred, as if to order it to stop snowing, but weather mocks him and the white flakes fall more heavily than before.
At the airport the situation is even worse: all flights have delays due to the defrosting operations of the planes.
He takes the phone to warn John of the delay, but finds it turned off, even though he recharged it in the morning.
It broke, that stupid phone broke in the most important moment; he runs to a public telephone and calls him, but John doesn’t pick up and Sherlock can’t even reach the voicemail.
John's phone is ringing in an empty flat: Mrs. Hudson's sister has felt dizzy and he, in a hurry to aid and take her to the A&E, has forgotten the phone at home.
Luckily it's nothing serious, the woman is released after a couple of hours and John decides to go directly to Mike's party. Once there, he realizes he doesn’t have the phone with him and asks his friend to borrow his. He call Sherlock to find out where he is, but he doesn’t answer: maybe he's at the airport and doesn’t hear it?
Sherlock’s flight has a delay of four hours, it’s past midnight when it lands, and the line for the cabs is endless: it will take hours before taking one.
He leaves his baggage in a locker and decides to reach the city on foot. It's crazy, he'll never be on time, but he told John that he would go to the party with him, and he can’t disappoint him right now, that night is the most important of their lives, he must be there by all means.
He walks briskly along the highway, regardless of the cars that honk angrily at him, regardless of the risks he’s taking, until a big touring coach goes near him and opens the doors: there’s a group of foreign tourists on it, and two ladies have asked the driver to stop, when they saw him.
"Ohi, so young and already tired of living?” the driver barks. “You should wait for a taxi."
"I can’t, I have to reach London as soon as possible."
"Where are you going?" asks one of the ladies.
Sherlock says the address and the woman’s face lights up.
"It's near our hotel. Come on, get in, young man."
"It's not regular" the driver protests.
"It's Christmas Eve, we can’t leave him here."
"I don’t agree."
There is a colorful chorus of protests and the driver is forced to give up.
"I don’t know how to thank you."
"There's no need: it's clear that it's important to you."
Once arrived, Sherlock thanks and leaps off the bus, running at breakneck speed to the ballroom where the party takes place, but the lights are already off and there is no one.
He arrived too late, he lost his chance again. When it comes to John and their relationship, he is always a step backwards, always late and, in the end, what he wants proves to be an unattainable mirage.
He bends over his knees, exhausted for the long run, and hisses a raging "damn!"
"Sherlock, it’s you?"
John comes out of the shadow of the main door, approaches him smiling, and hugs him.
"John? Why are you still here?"
"Because I know you: I read on Mike's phone about the delay of your flight, but I knew you wouldn’t give up."
"But the party is over, I've failed and disappointed you again," Sherlock murmurs, bowing his head.
"What are you saying? It's not true, you're here and it's not too late.” John looks at him very seriously, “And I'm not disappointed, I'm touching the sky."
Not far away, a small group of drunk boys stops their car, goes down, laughs and drinks champagne, while the notes of ‘All I want from Christmas is you’ resound throughout the street from their car radio.
Sherlock takes John's hand in his and finally smile to him.
"Am I wrong or did you promise me a dance?"
"You're not wrong," John answers, resting his hand on Sherlock’ shoulder.
“No I just want to see my baby
Standing right outside my door
I just want him for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
You know that all I want for Christmas
Is you
Is you”