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In the middle of December, John Watson dragged a lazy Sherlock Holmes out of bed — it was already after noon, so it wasn’t as if he was being mean or anything — with the excuse that they were going to the Natural History Museum. Sherlock, as always, scoffed and rolled his eyes, but John knew that he was secretly giddy, because Sherlock loved the Natural History Museum.
As they walked towards their destination, John grew more and more eager. He could barely stop himself from skipping, and Sherlock kept giving him strange looks on the corner of his eye.
‘What are you doing, John?’ he finally asked, and John smirked.
‘Well…’ John dragged the word out as they approached the museum. When they could finally see it, John smiled wider. ‘I sort of have a surprise for you.’
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely a surprise trip to the museum was the surprise?’
John chuckled and shook his head. ‘Nope. We are not actually going to the museum…’ then he opened his arms and grinned. ’Ta-da!’ he sang, as the ice rink appeared in front of them. John had been meaning to take Sherlock there since it opened, it was a rather couply thing to do, but, hell, they were a couple now anyway, so they might as well be a cliche sometimes. Sherlock just stared at the rink, wide-eyed, mouth agape.
‘You want to ice skate,’ Sherlock said.
‘Nice deduction, detective,’ John rolled his eyes. ‘Look, it’s going to be fun! We’ve been working nonstop for almost two months, a new case every week… I think we both deserve a break!’
‘And you want me to use my time off to slide through a thick layer of ice on top of sharp blades?’
John sighed at the skepticism. He should have known that this would be difficult. Bloody hell, he just wanted to spend some quality time with his partner-boyfriend-romantic-person-thing, was that too much to ask?
‘Yes, I do. It’s going to be fun, come on,’ he pulled Sherlock by the arm, but he resisted. ‘What are you doing?’
Sherlock cleared his throat, he looked embarrassed about something. ‘I, erm, I’ve never… done that before…’ he muttered, pointing at the general direction of the ice rink. John smiled up at him and ran a comforting hand through his arm.
‘Are you scared?’ he couldn’t keep a fond smile out of his lips. Sherlock sneered, as if the mere thought of being scared of something so mundane made him sick.
‘I’m not scared,’ he said, but John knew better. He smiled at Sherlock and nodded. Then he intertwined their fingers and stood on his tip toes, pressing a warm kiss on Sherlock’s lips.
‘Come on, it’ll be fun, okay? I promise.’
Sherlock sighed in an long-suffering, Austen heroine sort of way, then nodded. ‘Fine.’
John beamed at him and dragged Sherlock to get their ice skates.
A half hour later found them both wearing the appropriate gear and moving awkwardly towards the rink. John was clearly really excited, whereas Sherlock looked comically frightened, arms wide open, walking with his gangly legs far apart in order to keep balance.
As soon as they stepped on the ice, John made circle, then returned to Sherlock, extending his hands.
‘Come on, I have you,’ John said, and Sherlock took his hand from outside the rink, then put on foot in, and the other. He stood on the ice successfully and gave a smug smile. John chuckled and began to slide slowly backwards, pulling Sherlock along. Sherlock, on the other hand, was just allowing himself to be dragged. He had his eyes wide open and looked around, not in the observing-all-the-people sort of way, but more of a looking-out-for-blades-that-can-cut-my-fingers-off kind. John found it hilarious, but didn’t utter a word about it. It was hard enough getting Sherlock into the rink in the first place, he didn’t want him to feel humiliated as well.
They were halfway through the rink, but still on the right hand side, by the bars, so Sherlock could hold on.
‘I think I can do this now, John,’ said Sherlock, sounding a bit like a child in that endearing way John loved.
‘Alright. Are you sure?’
Sherlock nodded and John let go, keeping close, though, so he could catch Sherlock if he fell. Sherlock slid forward by himself and grinned proudly, earning a chuckle from John. Then he tried to turn and everything went to hell.
Like a cartoon, his legs did an Irish dance move, as his arms rotated, and John tried to stop him, but in a fraction of a second, Sherlock fell on his bum onto the ice, with a loud thud. John braced himself for the complaint and the I-told-you-sos, but they never came.
He opened his eyes to find a Sherlock looking curiously around himself, then down at his lap. His gaze moved to John, who was still expecting the explosion, but what actually came from Sherlock was even more surprising.
Sherlock burst out laughing. It was the loudest, warmest laugh John had ever heard from the detective. He was almost on his sides from the laughter, his watering eyes closed.
‘Are you okay?’ asked John, but in an amused tone now. Sherlock nodded and extended his hand to John.
‘Yes—hahah—I’m, ha, fine…’ he panted, exhausted from the fit of laughter. John took his hand to help him up, but Sherlock actually pulled him down. So now it was John falling on his bum on the ice. It hurt a bit, but Sherlock was beaming and John couldn’t help but laugh as well — of course he smacked Sherlock lightly on the arm first.
So there they were, sitting on the ice, wet, cold and laughing their arses off. And John could not have asked for a better day.