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“Utterly ridiculous.”
John sighed. He should have known that his first Christmas being Sherlock Holmes’s flatmate was going to be a nightmare. Of course, Sherlock didn’t believe in celebrating such a trivial holiday. He wasn’t even going to his parent’s house to spend it with them: they were on a holiday vacation and Mycroft was out of the country on business. So John was stuck with the Grinch of London.
“Sherlock, it’s Christmas. The majority of the world celebrates it! Be a sport, mate,” John said, hanging tinsel around the window that faced Baker Street.
Sherlock sighed and flopped into John’s chair, seeming to be resigned to John’s decorating.
“This might make you feel better about the holiday,” John said, putting his laptop’s speaker on and playing a Christmas song playlist on YouTube by Peder B. Helland. He turned and saw Sherlock visibly perk up at the music and he even hummed along, tapping out the beat on the arm of the chair.
John smiled to himself, knowing that classical holiday music was something Sherlock could not find to be ‘ridiculous’. He finished decorating the tree before he realised that he could not reach the top to place the angel.
Embarrassed and flushed, he turned to Sherlock and said, “Um...can I have a little help here?”
Sherlock smirked, as he usually did whenever John’s height was a hindrance. Languidly, as graceful as a dancer, he slid off the chair and walked across the room. John pretended that he did not notice how sexy his flatmate looked in his red shirt--his only nod to Christmas.
Sherlock took the angel from him, and leaned in closely, pressing his body to John’s as he reached up and put the angel in her place. “There. Are you done?”
“One more thing I need your help with,” John said, reaching into the nearly empty box of Christmas decorations. He pulled out a plant with bright red berries--mistletoe. “Can you hang this on the hook meant for plants over the breakfast nook? I’d rather not risk breaking my neck by getting on a step stool tonight.”
Sherlock took the little poisonous plant and walked over to the kitchen, still smirking as if he knew something that John did not. He stood on tiptoes and hung the plant, and then called John over. “Is it right?”
“It’s mistletoe, Sherlock. There’s no right way to hang it,” John said but walked over to him anyway. He looked up. “It’s fine. Thanks.”
Sherlock was looking at him with that sexy yet infuriating smirk still on his lips. “John, do you celebrate every Christmas tradition?”
“Well...I don't go to church. I haven’t been to Mass since I was little but--”
Sherlock interrupted him by yanking John over to him with the collar of his ugly holiday-themed jumper and pressing his lips to John’s hard.
John was stunned by the contact, his heart racing, and Sherlock did not pull away. Instead, he opened John’s lips with his own and John gasped as a hot tongue invaded his mouth. He gripped Sherlock’s shoulders for dear life and kissed him back. He gasped again when Sherlock’s hands went down to cup John’s arse and squeeze.
As quickly as it had happened, it was over. Sherlock pulled away from John, that grin still gracing his sharp features.
John was flushed and breathless, staring up at his flatmate and secret crush in shock. “Sherlock? What--what was that?”
He pointed upwards. “It’s a tradition, and I figured since you were so enamoured with Christmas traditions, you wouldn’t want to miss out on that one. Really the only decent one there is if you ask me.”
“You--you little prat! You planned that?” John cried.
“Was it not satisfactory, John? Shall we try it again to make sure that we performed the ritual correctly?” If anything, that wicked smile got wider as a naughty sparkle came into Sherlock’s oceanic eyes.
John took the initiative, pressing Sherlock against the counter and kissing his breath away, nibbling on his puffy lower lip and running one hand down Sherlock’s body. John was surprised to find that Sherlock was rock-hard in his trousers.
He pulled away to take a breath and Sherlock said, “I think that you wore your red pants today, for Christmas. I’d like to find out if that is true.”
“Oh, you bastard: I am going to fuck that smirk off of your face,” John vowed before leading Sherlock into the bedroom to start what he hoped would be the first of their Christmas traditions together.