Work Text:
It was five weeks before Christmas. Outside London was all hustle and bustle as its denizens, like so many other globally, prepared for the holidays. None of it reached inside 221B Baker Street. Lights around the window and mantle twinkled in holiday cheer to note the season while its occupants passed a lazy afternoon. Sherlock was on his laptop researching. John was in his chair reading. All was calm. All was quiet.
“BOYS!”
The former army captain nearly threw the journal he read to the floor as he rose from his chair in instant fight mode. Every fiber of his being on alert to assess and confront the threat. The consulting detective nearly spilled his tea on his keyboard from his sudden jolt of desire looking at him. He quickly diverted his eyes for a moment before looking back. The two men looked at each other and then sniggered at their reaction to the sudden squawk that broke the silence. Sherlock quickly looked down at his keyboard when his flatmate unconsciously licked the inside of his lip. They both took a breath as the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through their bodies slowly receded.
“The woman nearly gave me a coronary!” Sherlock groused as carefully put his tea cup down, knowing full well it was not their favorite Not Your Housekeeper that caused his reaction.
“I was wondering what the bloody hell did I do now to piss off my mother and how bad I was going to get it, before I realized it was merely Mrs. Hudson.” John admitted sheepishly as he marked his spot in the book and placed it on the seat of his chair.
“Stayed in trouble a lot, did you?” Sherlock looked to his flatmate of less than two years.
“Oh yeah, lots of it.” John admitted quietly with a stretch. Sherlock noted the slight smirk that played along his flatmate’s expressive face. It was a fond reminiscence mixed with embarrassment and pride.
“BOYS!!” is bellowed from downstairs again.
“She’s making us come downstairs, John. I just know she’s about to ask us to so something ridiculous and god awful sentimental. Spare me!” he implored not willing to deal with the woman gushy holiday propensities.
“Oh no! Sentiment? And during the holidays? Well we simply can’t have that!” John’s oh so blue eyes crinkled delightfully as he headed towards the door.
Sherlock rolled his eyes at the snark even as he smiled inwardly.
“Coming Mrs. Hudson!” John yelled down to her and turned when Sherlock had not moved.
“Come on you, let’s try not to be in trouble with this one – she feeds us you know. That 244th type of tobacco ash will still be there for your perusal. Free homecooked victuals may not.” he made a let’s go motion with his head.
Sherlock glared at John, but he had a point and begrudgingly rose. “Fine!”
The scent of the dried fruits, candied peel, apple, orange, lemon juice and brandy were heady scents in the air as the make their way into the warmth of the woman’s kitchen.
“Oh, it is that figgy pudding I smell?” John asked as they entered the kitchen.
“No John, it’s limburger cheese.” Sherlock sighed as though the delicious scents have not wafted up through the flat for that past couple of days. The preparations for several of the treats were all about the kitchen. Then again knowing Mrs. Hudson, it could be the beginning of several hundred. It was hard to tell.
“I have not really done a Stir-up Sunday since my mum was alive. This is a lot a bowls!” John looked around.
“Fifteen bowls! Fifteen wishes!” she beamed.
“Oh, I’ve got to think of more wishes!” John laughed.
“I most certainly wish you had not dragged us down here to simply…” Sherlock began to speak, but then he saw the at the assembly line Mrs. Hudson had ready to go.
Sherlock and Mycroft had gone through this with Mummy; not even their father could escape the tradition each Christmas as Mummy made each member of the family take the spoon and give the ingredients a counter clockwise stir while closing their eyes and making a wish. Sherlock had always refused to make a wish on principal and remembered how their parents laughed as he and Mycroft groused how they could not wait until they grew up and would never have to waste their time on such foolishness again. Except for the last time he was at home convalescing after a near overdose, Sherlock had made sure he was not at his parents’ house for Stir-up Sunday.
“Behave! Or you’ll lose your turn and your wish, young man!” She admonished.
“Do you want to risk that, Sherlock?” John teased as Sherlock rolled his eyes.
Mrs. Hudson held up a wooden spoon and pointedly placed it in the first bowl and waited. The doctor stood next to Mrs. Hudson in his jeans, plaid shirt and oatmeal sweater as he put a hand over hers on the spoon and winked at him playfully, those blue eyes alight with mischief.
With a pleased shock Sherlock realized John Watson was actually happy.
Sherlock realized quickly what a mess of a man lay behind the steadfast former army captain he had let into his life on instinct alone. He knew why John still had service pistol that should have been turned in when he was invalided out of the army. The detective understood that their having met had provided purpose and excitement for John and steadied him. Still, nothing could have prepared Sherlock for committed influence the doctor would have on his mess of a life. How John just accepted him in all his genius and yes, his foibles with admiration for the former and aplomb for the latter. Sherlock was grateful for the way John seamlessly slid into his life and tended to the parts of the dealing with the world that Sherlock himself cannot be so bothered by, letting him live his own purpose with The Work.
Yes, John still had his demons, as the nightmares that still plagued the man from time to time will attest, but overall for the first time since he left the army Sherlock knew John Watson was happy with his life now.
Sherlock knew in that moment that he would do anything to ensure John stayed happy and that was a different shock as he stepped behind John and placed his hand atop of both John’s and Mrs. Hudson’s.
Mrs. Hudson’s eyes were on the bowl to ensure that three complete counter clockwise turns were made, one turn for each of them, and Sherlock’s eyes were on John as the doctor made his wish. John who got into the spirit of it, had his eyes closed, his light blond lashes fluttering, an indulgent smile on his face while he made his wish. He really was so happy.
Feeling the warmth of the doctor’s hand under his, for the first time ever Sherlock made a wish:
By this next year he knows how much I love him and that he loves me back and that we’re both this happy.
Sherlock had no way of knowing ihat those closed eyes with the blond lashes, enjoying the warmth of the consulting detective's hand over his, made the same wish.