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One chilly afternoon, John sat by the fire reading a book. He was relaxed compared to Sherlock, who was shrugging on his coat with a disgruntled expression on his face.
“With any luck,” he said, “it’ll all be over in a few hours. Or better yet, I can sneak out before it’s over because my parents will get along with whoever Mycroft’s ‘wonderful’ new partner is and be caught up in a conversation even their own son can’t distract them from. At least going now means I can stay here at Baker Street for Christmas this year.”
“Good luck,” John replied simply. Sherlock snorted in response before heading out. As soon as the door shut, John put down his book and padded silently to the door in his stocking feet to listen to Sherlock’s steps on the stairs, followed by the opening and closing of the door to the street. John then ran over to the window and watched Sherlock walk along the sidewalk and hail a cab. John saw the taxi drive away, but didn’t leave the window until he was sure it wasn’t going to turn around.
Once satisfied, John headed for Sherlock’s room. When he arrived at the dresser, he reached out and opened the sock drawer. Sherlock had mentioned the sock index to him before, but John had never really seen it, never intended to look at it, even if apparently he had ruined it once. And now, here it was. Sherlock’s socks, all arranged according to a system.
John pulled out his phone and snapped a few pictures of the neatly-organized drawer before carefully removing a few of the paired-up socks, closing the drawer, and leaving. Socks in hand, he left the flat, descended the stairs, and knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door.
“I’ve got some samples,” John said when she greeted him. “God – I sound like Sherlock when he’s doing one of his experiments.”
Mrs. Hudson nodded, put on her coat, and locked up her flat. She and John headed out to the street.
---
When Sherlock got home that evening, John was once again reading by the fire as if he had not moved the entire time Sherlock was gone. But John was soon distracted from his book by Sherlock’s giggling.
“You’re not going to believe this, John!” he said giddily as he hung up his coat.
“What?” John asked, looking up from his book nonchalantly.
“Mycroft’s got a boyfriend!” Sherlock practically shouted as he sat himself down in his chair across from John’s. He laughed again.
“Uh-huh…” John said, unsure how that in itself was so funny. John had never speculated on Sherlock’s brother’s sexuality, only because he felt the man never really let on to much in the way of feelings of any kind, let alone romantic or sexual interests.
“You won’t believe who it is!” Sherlock said.
“Who?”
“Lestrade!”
“Oh.” John took a moment to think as he watched Sherlock laugh some more before saying, “I didn’t know they’d met.”
“Apparently Mycroft tracked him down one day when Lestrade was working on some case the government had also been investigating. Apparently, Lestrade wouldn’t meet in Mycroft’s usual secluded area. He convinced him to have their meeting at a pub, they had a few drinks, and that was that.”
“Did they seem happy?”
“I would say so.”
“Isn’t that nice…”
“Isn’t that hilarious?!”
---
Sherlock knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door. She greeted him cheerily despite the annoyed look on his face.
“Mrs. Hudson,” he began, “my socks haven’t by chance wound up in your laundry recently, have they? Perhaps stuck to the inside of the dryer without John noticing they were there?”
“No,” Mrs. Hudson replied. “Why?”
“Some of my socks have gone missing, but they’ve all been washed recently and I know which ones are in the dirty pile. I do hope John hasn’t stolen them. They are of superior quality to the ones he buys.”
“Socks go missing sometimes, Sherlock,” she reassured him.
“Complete pairs at a time? Highly unlikely.”
“But possible.”
“Hmph.”
---
After breakfast on Christmas morning, Mrs. Hudson got Sherlock busy helping her with the dishes while John snuck around the flat doing his final preparations for his gift for Sherlock. Once the chores were completed, they were ready to exchange presents.
Sherlock presented John with his gift, wrapped carefully in gold paper. John peeled it off, revealing a small box. Inside was a little velvet bag with a drawstring. Inside was a magnifying lens exactly like the one Sherlock sometimes used at crime scenes.
“For your own investigations,” Sherlock said. “You don’t have to share with me anymore.”
“Thanks, Sherlock,” he said, smiling at the thoughtfulness of the gift. “This is something I can really use.”
Sherlock smiled, glad that John was happy.
“But it might make my gift for you seem a bit lacklustre.”
Sherlock looked confused now.
“We’ll have to go into another room to get it,” John continued. “It’s not really something I can wrap.”
Sherlock raised his eyebrows quizzically, but followed John through the flat for a few paces before he stopped.
“Wait,” John said. “Close your eyes.”
Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped himself. John took him by the hand and, while watching to make sure Sherlock didn’t peek, led Sherlock to his bedroom. He stood Sherlock in front of the dresser.
“You can look now.”
“It’s my dresser,” Sherlock said plainly. “That’s not anything new.”
“Open it.”
Sherlock opened the top drawer. John could tell as soon as the look on his face changed that he knew what he was looking at.
“New socks,” John said. “Already indexed.”
“You organized them perfectly,” Sherlock said. “You really are getting more observant.”
John had bought Sherlock new socks that resembled ones Sherlock already liked. Some were in standard colours – black, navy blue – but other were more lively.
“You really think I’m going to wear the bright green ones?” Sherlock teased.
“You never know what you might need for a disguise.”
Sherlock smiled.
---
“It’s just that your gift for me is so much more…personal,” John fretted.
“You can stop asking if I’m disappointed,” Sherlock said after John. “I don’t really ever want anything particular for Christmas. I’ve got everything I need already. Besides, not just anyone could index my socks properly.”
John watched Sherlock’s expression. It showed no sign of disingenuity.
“You have everything? You complain to me incessantly.”
“Only when people are stupid,” Sherlock volleyed back without a hesitation.
John grinned. So Sherlock wasn’t getting sappy after all. He was worried there for a moment. Relaxing, he turned towards the window.
“Look, it’s snowing!” John said, noticing the flakes softly falling outside and walking over to the window. “I didn’t think we’d have any this Christmas.”
In his peripheral vision he saw Sherlock appear beside him. They stood in silence for a minute before John turned towards his flatmate.
“Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”