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"Bah humbug? Seriously? That's what you're going with?"
"Isn't that the usual thing to say when one has no interest in perpetuating the farce presently known as Christmas?" Sherlock continued typing, not even bothering to look up.
John scrubbed his face with both hands in frustration. He didn't know why he was surprised by his flat mate's reaction. If they were casting for Scrooge in the latest movie adaptation, Sherlock would be a shoe-in. "Look, I know you're not religious and I respect that, but Christmas is not a farce."
"Perhaps travesty, sham, ridiculous excuse for rampant commercialism would be more apt." Sherlock finally closed the window on his screen and turned his full attention to John. "Surely you can't deny that any religious connection was lost a long time ago."
John shrugged, knowing that Sherlock might have a point. Even so, he loved the idea that there was still hope for peace and goodwill at least once a year. He wasn't ready to give that up yet, not even for Sherlock.
John crossed his arms and countered. "That's not true for everyone."
Sherlock cocked his head to one side and studied John an extra second. "You're no more religious than I am. Why are we having this disagreement?"
"I'm not not religious."
Sherlock ignored his obvious grammatical faux pas and asked, "With the exceptions of weddings, funerals, and that one crime scene involving the strangled vicar, when was the last time you even went inside a church?"
John frowned and squared his shoulders, knowing he was losing the battle fast. He needed a different tactic. "My attendance isn't the point."
"What is the point?"
"I want to help Mrs. Hudson decorate her flat. She asked because she can't do it by herself anymore and it would make her happy. If you don't want a lot of fuss inside our flat, I'll respect that, but a small tree won't be a bother. I'll put it up myself."
"No."
"No?"
"Your grasp of the English language seems to be disturbingly diminished this morning, John. I said no."
More than a bit miffed, John snapped, "Look, it's my flat, too, and if I want a tree, I'm going to have a bloody tree."
Sherlock sat up a little straighter, suddenly taking John’s words more seriously. "Why is it important to you? It's just a ridiculous tree, more of a shrub really."
"I was in the bloody desert, Sherlock. A tree wasn't exactly high on my lists of priorities last Christmas."
"And now it is." Sherlock paused and then nodded in apparent understanding. "I see."
"Do you?"
"I do. It's a symbol of your present opportunity and choice."
John sighed in relief. Finally, his thick-headed partner could see beyond his own gorgeous nose. "So, you do understand."
"It's still an absurd thing to do, put a tree inside and then cover it with tawdry decorations. How ludicrous, not to mention an incredible waste of natural resources."
Grinning, knowing from Sherlock's increasingly indifferent tone that he'd won the skirmish, John rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I know, I know, but I'm still going to do it. I might even put out some holly and pine boughs on the mantel with a few fairy lights here and there."
Sherlock groused, "I don't want it interfering with my work or experiments."
"It won't. It'll be festive."
Sherlock shook his head, reluctantly accepting but not thrilled at the prospect of having the flat decorated for the holiday. "I just don't want to be bothered."
"It'll brighten the place up. You'll see."
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he returned to working on his laptop. In his most dramatic voice, he made his position clear. "Let me repeat, bah humbug."
John laughed and headed downstairs. He needed to make a list and hit the shops, Mrs. Hudson in tow. It was going to be his best Christmas in years.
&&&&&&
"Oh, thank you, dear.” Mrs. Hudson waved her hands in the general direction of the kitchen counter. “Just put the bags anywhere."
John placed the five big bags on the table and dropped his own two on the floor. Luckily, he'd trained as a pack animal in another life while in the desert. He knew how to carry a monster load of supplies with the least amount of effort and the most efficiency. "How much baking do you actually plan to do, Mrs. Hudson? There's enough here to bake cakes for a whole battalion."
"Oh, you know how it is, dear. One wants to be sure everyone has at least a token gift for the season."
John grinned as he pulled out the heaviest item from one of the bags, a bottle of fine brandy. "This looks like more than a token to me. Who gets this?"
Mrs. Hudson chuckled as she took it from his hands and carefully put it on top of the refrigerator for safekeeping. "Oh, that's for the fruitcakes and puddings, dear."
John thought it was a terrible waste of good liquor, but he didn't say that out loud. Mrs. Hudson reminded him of his Grandmother Agnes who had passed away when he was a teenager. She had the same kindness and she shared with so many people. He never wanted to do or say anything that might hurt her feelings. Instead, he commented, "Well, that should certainly make things a bit jollier.”
Her eyes twinkled as she laughed. "That's the plan, dear." As she worked methodically at pulling the items out of the bags and storing them away, she asked, "Would you like some tea? I made fresh chocolate biscuits this morning."
John loved her biscuits and he'd only had a bit of toast hours earlier thanks to Sherlock using most of their bread in some kind of comparative mold experiment. "You've convinced me, thanks." He finished putting away her groceries as she readied the tea.
Mrs. Hudson even turned on her small stereo and played some Christmas music in the background. John rather liked the sounds of the traditional instruments playing his favorite songs. Sherlock would be stroppy as hell if he ever had the brass to play anything like that in the flat. The silly prat would probably break out in a rash from the overdose of what he called sentiment.
Still, John thought it was lovely and set the mood. It was all very pleasant and relaxing, just like the holidays were supposed to be for normal people. Sometimes John missed normal, not all the time mind, just occasionally when Sherlock was being more an insufferable prat than flat mate and friend.
Once they sat down at the table, John nibbled his biscuits. He could taste not only the chocolate, but a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg as well. "These are delicious. Family recipe?"
"Thank you, dear. Yes, these were my mum’s favorites when I was growing up. You can take some up to Sherlock when you go. He's far too thin. I worry."
John frowned and nodded in agreement. "He is, but I doubt even your wonderful cooking will entice him. He just doesn't seem to enjoy eating."
"Well, you certainly don't have that problem, do you, dear."
John laughed and rubbed his belly. He'd gained back nearly a stone since his release from the hospital after being shot. He wasn't fat by any standard, but having a full stomach after such a long stretch of depressing deprivation made him more than grateful to be back in London where he had an appetite again. Grudgingly, he admitted, "Guilty."
"Oh, nothing to feel guilty about, dear. I love watching a man eat with such relish."
John glanced around the flat as he remembered her earlier request to help out. There were already a lot of Christmas candles and pine boughs around, especially on her mantle. There really didn't seem to be that much left for him to do. "So, how can I help?"
"I've got most of it done already, but I do have a small tree picked out. It's already arranged. I just need you to get it and put it up in the stand for me." She handed him the address of the lot. “Charles knows me. I’ve told him to expect you.”
"I can do that, no problem." He tucked the slip of paper into his jeans pocket. "I'll go as soon as I take the groceries up to the flat."
"There's no rush, dear. The lot stays open until 8 tonight."
"I'll get it done this afternoon. I want to hang some decorations of my own later and put up a small tree."
Mrs. Hudson's eyebrow lifted in surprise. "And Sherlock's agreed?"
"Yes, why?"
"Well, he usually avoids that sort of thing." She reached over and patted his hand. "You're such a good influence."
"I don't know about that. I just told him that it was my flat, too, and I wanted a tree."
John studied her a moment before he asked, "How do you know about Sherlock's opposition to Christmas? I thought he just moved in this year."
"Oh, he did, but this isn't the first place he's rented from me." She sipped her tea as she stared off into space. Her soft voice choked a bit as she spoke quietly. "Sherlock and I go back a bit. He's such a dear boy. He's been very good to me over the years, I can tell you." There was no mistaking the deep fondness those words carried.
Suddenly curious about their shared history, John asked, "How long have you known him exactly?"
Her cheeks flushed as she wiped away a quick tear. "Look at me being so silly. I must be more tired than I thought." She stood up and busied herself by taking the cups to the sink, totally avoiding his question.
It was obvious that talking about Sherlock was too unsettling at the moment. John had no idea why. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"I'm not upset, dear." She quickly wrapped up the extra biscuits in some foil and handed them to John. "I think I'll have a short lie down while you go get the tree. You can let yourself out, dear."
As she left the room, John stood up and retrieved his packages. It seemed like there was a mystery going on in his own building right under his bloody nose. How had he missed that?
&&&&&&&
"I'm here to pick up a tree for Mrs. Hudson."
A young blond man turned around, his skin flushed from the exertion of moving trees and hanging up fresh wreaths. He had incredibly blue eyes and an attractive face. His rounded cheekbones, full lips, and Roman nose made John wonder why he wasn't a film star. The man's voice was breathy as he asked, "Yeah? How do I know that?"
John laughed at the immediate suspicion since it reminded him of Sherlock. "I guess you don't." He held out a hand and introduced himself. "I'm Dr. John Watson. I live upstairs from Mrs. Hudson. We only live a few blocks away, but it's still too far for her to carry a tree on her own."
A friendly smile beamed at him as the man took off his work gloves and shook his hand. He couldn’t have been more than mid-twenties and he had a hell of a grip. “She said you'd be by, Dr. Watson. The name's Charles Devon."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Devon."
"Just Charles. You know I told her I’d deliver."
“Maybe she thought that would be too much trouble since you’re working. Looks like you’re on your own, too.”
“Yeah, for now. I had a couple of lads coming in every day, but they’ve scampered off to who knows where. Sorry sods can’t be bothered to work for a living.”
John was sympathetic. He knew all too well how hard it was to keep good help. They’d lost three nurses at the surgery just in the last few months. “Sorry to hear that. So, the tree?"
"Oh, sure, sorry.” Charles thumbed over his shoulder. “It's around the corner. Are you okay on your own? It’s not heavy, but it’s a bit awkward.”
“It’s really no problem. Plus, I might come back later and get one for myself. So, this will be a practice run.”
Charles pointed at the small tree wrapped in netting and leaning against the wooden shed that John assumed was the young man’s office. “Since you’re a friend of Mrs. Hudson, I’ll give you a discount. She was a good friend of my mum’s when I was growing up. She’s like family. Any friend of hers, yeah?”
Charles lifted the tree like it was a toy, his broad shoulders stretching the red flannel of his thick work shirt tight across his back. John forced himself not to think about the fine muscles hidden beneath the fabric. He had no time for looking at strong, handsome men. Only one man kept his interest anymore and that man didn’t see him that way. Even so, just looking at Charles made him feel like he was cheating on Sherlock in a way he couldn’t explain. It made him uncomfortable and excited all at the same time.
Charles handed him the tree, which was heavier than it looked. “When you get it back to her place, you should make a fresh cut across the trunk. It’ll stay fresher that way when you put it in the stand. Do you have the saw to do that?”
John frowned at the prospect of finding the proper tool in a whole box of junk locked in their storage room. The last time he’d seen anything resembling a saw, Sherlock was hacking away at a fresh leg Molly had given him for his birthday. There was no way he was going to be digging that thing out to use on Mrs. Hudson’s tree. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “I don’t, actually.”
“Oh, okay. Here, give it back. I’ll do it. It’ll only take a minute. I’ve got a saw inside the shed.”
Grateful, John said, “Thanks.”
“No problem.” As Charles hefted the tree over his shoulder, he said, “When you come back later, I’ll do the same for the one you pick out for yourself.”
“I appreciate that.”
Charles smiled even wider. “Come at closing and I’ll carry it home for you. Then maybe we could get a drink or something, maybe even a meal, yeah?”
John stared an extra few seconds, taking in the words and inviting expression. He suddenly realized that Charles was chatting him up. Even more surprising was that he didn’t mind. Still, he couldn’t forget Sherlock. “Maybe. I guess it’ll depend on what plans my flat mate has for tonight.”
“That would be Sherlock Holmes, right?”
Surprised that Charles knew the name, John asked, “Mrs. Hudson told you about him?
As Charles put the tree on the table and proceeded to cut the base of the trunk, he laughed. “Well, she does talk about him, but I know him mainly from the papers and your blog. I’m a big fan of your stories.”
John’s cheeks heated. The idea of someone being a real fan of his writing gave him a sense of pride, something he didn’t have in abundance after the army kicked him out of the service. “Thanks.”
Charles added, “Sherlock, he seems a right nutter.”
John grinned and shrugged. “Well, I guess that makes me the nutter’s apprentice.”
Charles gave a hearty laugh as he finished his job and handed the tree back to John. “I guess it does, but somehow that doesn’t come through in the writing. It’s more like you’re there to protect him, both from the criminals and the coppers. I’m surprised someone hasn’t shot him yet for being such a rude git.”
John chuckled, knowing it was no doubt a close call with Anderson. “Yeah, I know.”
“Sounds like a blast, all that crime solving and arresting criminals.”
John couldn’t agree more. “Yeah, it is.”
Charles tilted his head and asked, “So, you and Sherlock, are you two a couple?”
John sighed, thinking how happy he’d be if only that were true. Instead, he confessed, “We’re just flat mates.”
Charles smiled wider as he helped John shift the weight of the tree onto his good shoulder and guided him back out to the street. “I’ll see you tonight then?”
“Probably later this afternoon. I’d like to get the tree up before dark.”
“I’ll be here. We can talk more then. It’s been great meeting you face-to-face, Dr. Watson.”
"Just John."
Charles grinned and repeated the name like he was practicing for a game. "John."
As John headed down the street carrying the tree, he thought about how much he wanted things to be different. Charles was a nice enough bloke and obviously keen on getting to know John better, but he wasn’t Sherlock.
&&&&&&&
“Oh, that’s lovely, dear.”
John admired the meter-high tree situated on a sitting room table by the window. Working together, they had finished the decorating in record time. “It did turn out nicely.”
Mrs. Hudson handed him an antique ceramic angel dressed in white handmade lace. “Put this on the top and it’ll be finished.”
As soon as he placed it on the tree, he stood back and smiled. “It’s perfect.”
She nodded and said, “Matilda.”
“Excuse me?”
“The angel’s name, dear. She belonged to Great Gran Margaret. She’s been in our family for years.”
Considering Mrs. Hudson’s own age, he could well imagine just how long that was. “She’s just the right touch.”
“Yes.”
John looked around at the remaining boxes. They still contained a lot of nice ornaments, tinsel, and lights. “What about these? Do you want me to take them back down to the storage area?”
“I have a better idea. Instead of spending money on all new things for your own tree, why not use these?”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I’d much rather they be used than boxed away for another year.”
It would save him a lot of trouble and money, too. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“No worries, dear. Have you gotten your tree yet?”
“I’m going to get it in just a bit.”
She grinned. “So, what did you think of Charles?”
“He’s very nice.”
“Oh, he’s more than very nice, dear. I do believe he’s what we call dishy.”
John’s cheeks heated a bright red, slightly embarrassed that he'd thought the same thing. “Dishy?”
“I might be old, dear, but I’m not blind. Plus, I do believe he fancies finding a nice fella to date.”
John stared at his crafty landlady as the reality hit home. “Charles would’ve delivered the tree, but you wanted me to meet him.”
“He’s such a nice, hardworking young man. I didn’t think it would hurt if you both had someone to spend time with during the holidays.”
John frowned. “But Sherlock…”
“Needs to know that others find you attractive.”
Shocked, John shook his head, “First of all, Sherlock doesn’t think about me like that. Second, even if he did, I couldn’t stoop to trying to make him jealous by using Charles.”
“But you wouldn’t be doing that, dear. There’s nothing wrong with spending time with a young man who finds you attractive and appreciates your talents.”
John disagreed, but it came out whiny. “Sherlock appreciates my talents.”
“Perhaps, but he takes you for granted.”
He couldn’t believe he was hearing this from Mrs. Hudson of all people. “I thought you liked Sherlock.”
“I love Sherlock, dear.”
“Then why try to fix me up with Charles?”
She shrugged and said, “I thought you two would like one another. He’s such a fan of your blog.”
“So he said.”
“He talks about you all the time. He’s got quite a crush, our Charles.”
John shook his head. There was no way he needed to be even considering such a thing. Going out with Charles would be a huge mistake. “He’s too young for me.”
“He’s not that young. Besides, I noticed that you haven’t been dating the ladies. I thought it might be a nice change.”
“Well, it might be, but I’m not really looking for a relationship.”
“I don’t think Charles is looking for that, either, but one never knows. You might find that he’s got more to offer than good looks. He went to university, you know. Studied horticulture and botany. Made his mum very proud, he did.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to just get to know him.”
John still hesitated. “Sherlock takes up most of my time.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure of that.”
“He’s married to his work and he doesn’t do relationships. Besides, he doesn’t think about me like that.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised, dear, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
As she headed to the kitchen, John gaped at her back. He had no idea what she was on about. Sure, Sherlock took him for granted, but he did that to everyone, his brother, Lestrade, Molly. How was he any different?
True, he wanted it to be different between them, but he just didn’t believe Sherlock had it in him to see him as more than a friend.
&&&&&&&
Charles grinned when he saw John walk up. “So you’re back.”
“Yeah. I’d like a tree about the same size as Mrs. Hudson's.”
“Why so small?”
John didn’t want to mention all the clutter that took up more than its share of their cramped living area. Instead, he said, “Our apartment is a bit small. Plus, Sherlock is less likely to use it in an experiment later on.”
“What kind of experiment?”
“Who knows? Anyway, I thought I’d get it now and have it up by the time he gets back from the morgue.’
“The morgue? Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Charles shook his head with a chuckle. “Nutter.”
“That’s consulting nutter to you, thanks.”
Charles laughed and pointed at the far end of the lot. “I’ve got some nice ones down there. You pick one out and I’ll cut the trunk for you like I promised.” Two couples, one with three children, came into the lot. “I’ve got to check out the customers. Just whistle when you decide.”
“Thanks.”
As Charles turned on the charm, John headed back to pick out his first tree in nearly a decade. He turned and watched when he heard Charles’s easy laughter and the giggles of the children. Not only was the man easy on the eyes, but he was good-natured and fun to be around. Maybe he should try dating again. What did it matter if it was a man instead of a woman? Maybe he’d have more success and Sherlock would stop making it so damn hard for him to get a leg over.
Then again, Sherlock might not even notice. Yeah, who was he kidding? Sherlock would pick Charles apart, pointing out John’s transparent physical attraction to a man with whom he had little or nothing in common. Still he'd been months without a date and John had to admit that the idea of having a normal relationship without the threat of kidnapping or death had an appeal all its own.
Once he picked out his tree, John took it to the shed and waited. If he did go out with Charles, it wouldn’t be to make Sherlock jealous, it wouldn’t. It would be because he was truly tired of going to bed alone.
When Charles walked up, he asked, “You ready?”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
&&&&&&
“What is all this?”
John finished draping the garland along the edge the pine boughs above the fireplace. “Mrs. Hudson let us borrow her extra decorations.”
“Us?”
“Me.” John stood back a few feet and then stepped in again to make a quick adjustment. He grinned in satisfaction. “There. It looks nice.”
Sherlock dropped his coat over the back of the sofa and slumped down, taking in all John’s hard work. He wasn't smiling. “You’ve been busy.”
“I have, yes. What do you think?”
“It’s shiny.”
“Yes, that’s the point.” John switched on the multi-colored fairy lights around the window and on the tree. “I like it.”
Sherlock shook his head in dismay. “John, I’m surprised that you buy into all this rubbish.”
Suddenly defensive, John complained, “It’s not rubbish.”
“Perhaps, but it’s so middle class.”
John stiffened at Sherlock’s infuriating snobbery. “In case you’ve forgotten, I am middle class.”
“I would’ve thought being in the military drummed out the desire for such nonsense.”
Frustrated, John stacked the last of the empty boxes on top of the others. “Well, it didn’t. I like Christmas. There’s nothing wrong with a few decorations. It’s fucking gloomy enough the rest of the year. At least let me have this without pissing and moaning about it.”
Sherlock didn’t speak right away and when John finally met his curious gaze, his friend nodded. “Agreed. However…”
“However, what?”
“It all comes down after New Year’s.”
“How soon after?”
“No later than the third.”
John smiled. He could deal with that. “Agreed.”
“Good. Now, what about supper? I thought we could go to Angelo’s.”
John cleared his throat and looked away. “I can’t.”
Sherlock’s right eyebrow raised in surprise. “Can’t?”
“I have other plans.”
“What plans?”
“I have a date.”
“A date?” Sherlock frowned and shook his head as if he were disappointed in John's continued futile efforts at romance. “Surely it’s not the new nurse. She’s separated, but it won’t last. She’ll be back with her husband come Christmas eve, saying it’s for the sake of the children when it's really her own insecurity despite his infidelities.”
“No, it’s not Madelaine.”
“Sarah? You know that’s a waste of time as well.”
Tired of Sherlock’s guessing game, John said, “No, it’s no one you know.”
Sherlock leaned a bit forward, obviously curious. “Who is it?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does if you’re trying to keep her identity a secret.” He grinned, the gleam in his blue grey eyes highlighting his gorgeous cheekbones. Sherlock always loved a puzzle. “You know you can’t keep a secret from me, John.”
“It’s no secret, and it’s not a her.”
Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly as he settled back against the sofa. He steepled his fingers under his chin and kept grinning. “You’ve got a date with a man. How interesting.”
“I don’t know why that would be more interesting than dating a woman. Like I said before, it’s all fine.”
“So it would seem.” Sherlock studied him a few more seconds as John straightened the remaining decorations. “Why are you so nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You like this man?”
“I don’t know him yet, not really.”
“But you want to know him.” It wasn’t a question. “Why haven’t you dated men before if that’s your inclination?”
John answered too quickly. “It’s not…I mean, not all the time.”
Sherlock’s voice took on a nasty edge. “Well, this certainly explains the failed attempts with all those ridiculous women.”
John threw down a roll of ribbon. Sherlock just went too far sometimes. “Just stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“Analyzing me. I like women and men. It’s just that women are easier most of the time, that’s all.”
“But there’s something about this man that’s made you change your preferred pattern. What might that be?”
“It’s nothing you’d understand. You’re married to your work, which is fine, but some of us need more than that.”
“Ah.”
“Ah?”
“Sex.”
John shook his head in frustration and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not about sex.”
“So, you’re not going to sleep with this person if he offers? Doubtful.”
“Oh, shut up! What I do or don’t do is none of your business. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
Sherlock stretched his incredibly long arms across the back of the sofa as he watched John clean up. His voice was suddenly very smoky and slightly smug. “Doesn’t it?”
John couldn’t meet those eyes as they continued to bore into him. He sorted out the last box before he spoke. “It’s just a date with a nice bloke.”
“Dull.”
“Maybe, probably, but I need something more than I have with you.”
Sherlock’s face suddenly hardened as his lips thinned to a grim line. Without another word, he stood up, picked up his coat, and walked out of the flat.
His chest tight, John wanted to go after him, take it all back, but he couldn’t. Sherlock would never understand that John needed more to get him through the long, dark nights than just his dreams of sleeping with his partner.
&&&&&&&
“You want another pint?”
John shook his head. “Three’s my limit, thanks.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Think I’ll have another.”
“Fine.” John didn’t mention that Charles was already a few pints ahead of him. Instead, he asked, “You’re not driving, yeah?”
Charles grinned and teased. “No. I just live a few blocks away. I think I can manage. No need to play nanny and take the keys away.” He raised a hand and signaled the server for another drink.
John sipped on his own ale and wondered what the hell he was doing there with a man who, though handsome and charming, was about as dull as the classified ads on a Monday. “So, you were saying you were thinking about going into teaching?”
“Yeah, I need to take a few more courses, but my cousin thinks he can put in a good word for me. I’d be moving out of the city, maybe get a nice patch out in the country. I’d like that. I could grow my own veg and maybe do a little hunting. You like to hunt?”
After years in the army, John had no desire to kill anything again if he could avoid it. “Not really, no.”
“The meat’s a lot fresher that way.”
“I’m sure.”
The server put the new pint in front of Charles and took his empty glass away. After a few more sips, Charles said, “You’re not having a very good time, are you.”
Startled by the observation, John shook his head in denial. “No, it’s fine. I’m just tired, that’s all.” He turned his attention back to Charles. “Bet you’re tired, too, working around the lot all day.”
“A little, but manual labor never hurt anybody. It’s just you’ve been looking at your watch and staring off in space for a bit. I guess I’m not as exciting as Sherlock, eh?”
John sighed. He had no desire to hurt the man’s feelings. It wasn’t fair that anyone had to compete with Sherlock. It was a rigged competition. “It’s not you.”
“God, save me from that phrase.”
“What?”
“That whole it’s not you, it’s me bollocks.”
Remembering the depressing number of times he’d heard that phrase himself, John apologized, “I’m sorry.”
Charles waved a hand of dismissal and then chugged his brew. When he finished, he wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. It should’ve been a turn on watching him swallow, those full lips against the rim of the glass, but all it did was make John wonder about the state of Charles’s liver. Charles put the glass on the table and then leaned in. “It’s okay. I’m glad I met you and I’ll still be reading your blog. I should’ve known I didn’t have a chance.”
John tried to protest. “Charles…”
“No, it’s fine, honest. I know how it is.”
“How what is?”
“That unrequited thing.”
“It’s not like that with Sherlock and me.”
Charles’s blue eyes stared at him, sad and bloodshot. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, mate. Meanwhile, I hope you have a great Christmas.” He stood up and steadied himself with one hand on the table. “I’m going to head off now.”
“Let me get you a cab.”
“No, the fresh air will help clear my head.”
“You sure?”
“Oh, yeah.” Charles gave him one more long look and shook his head in resignation. “Sherlock’s one lucky bastard. Blind, but lucky.”
As Charles headed out, John stayed and finished his drink. He had no desire to head back to the flat and face Sherlock’s scorn for another romantic failure.
&&&&&&&
John walked into the flat and was surprised to see the tree lights on. He was also greeted by pine scent and flickering candles. It was downright seasonal. He didn't want to turn on the overhead light and ruin the mood.
“You’re home reasonably early. I surmise it didn’t go well.”
“You surmise correctly.” John took off his coat and hung it up, ready to take whatever jibe Sherlock would throw his way.
“John, I’m sorry.”
Shocked, John stared at his friend who was sitting on the sofa wearing his blue silk dressing gown. Sherlock rarely apologized even when it was warranted. “Wait, what?”
“I know you had hoped…”
John held up a hand to cut him off. “No, I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, it was a mistake. You want tea?”
Sherlock relaxed and nodded. “Tea would be appreciated, yes.”
John stepped to the kitchen, putting off the inevitable conversation they needed to have. He dreaded it, knowing that Sherlock probably saw him as a failure, nothing new there.
After he finished making the tea, John took it into the sitting room along with Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits. He handed the plate and cup to Sherlock. “Did you have supper?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You should eat more.”
“So you keep saying.”
“Mrs. Hudson agrees.”
Sherlock shrugged, dismissing his concerns like always. He sipped the tea and actually took a bite of the chocolate biscuit. “Her mother’s recipe.”
“Funny you should know about your landlady’s mum’s biscuits.”
“Is it?”
John settled into his own chair and sipped his tea. It was a nice change from the ale from earlier. “How long have you known Mrs. Hudson?”
“Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Sherlock finished off his biscuit and drank his tea before he finally answered, “You know the story about my helping her with her husband.”
“It was something about Florida.”
“Yes, he’d committed a number of capital crimes in the United States. He made it rather too easy to make sure of a conviction.”
John asked, “What exactly did he do to Mrs. Hudson?”
“He hurt her. The details don’t matter, not in this case. I made sure it wouldn’t happen again.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Yes.”
“Even if that means I might have circumvented the rules a bit in order to secure his arrest and subsequent execution?”
“Was he guilty?”
“Yes.”
“Then, no, to me it doesn’t matter. I’m not a lawyer, Sherlock. The law and justice aren’t always on the same page. We both know that well enough.”
“True.”
After a few more moments, John prompted, “Mrs. Hudson said this wasn’t the first place you rented from her.”
“No, she had a boarding house a number of years ago. I took a room there on occasion.”
“A boarding house?”
“Yes. It was during the time when I was rather at loose ends with my life.”
John considered his own comment carefully. He didn’t want it to sound like an accusation. “She knew you when you were using drugs then.”
“Yes. I’m not being sentimental or overly dramatic in saying that without her help, I might not be here.” Sherlock tilted his head to the left and met John’s questioning gaze. “Why the sudden interest in Mrs. Hudson history with me?”
“I just wondered. We were putting up the decorations and she was surprised that you allowed the tree.”
“She would be. I must confess being less flexible on the subject when I was younger.”
John quirked a grin and teased, “Less flexible? That’s hard to imagine.”
“Perhaps.”
“Why do you hate Christmas so much?”
Sherlock didn’t answer right away. He licked his lower lip, considering the question carefully before he finally whispered, “My father died on Christmas day when I was nine.”
“Oh.” The word came out small and inadequate.
“Yes. It was rather a shock to all of us. He was a relatively young man, only forty-nine. It took years for Mummy to recover. To this day we all avoid the holiday trappings.”
Such a trauma would certainly explain so much about Sherlock’s behavior. “I’m sorry.”
Sherlock closed his eyes, resting his head back against the sofa. “My father was a fool about Christmas. He had all these silly traditions. He loved putting up the tree and making sure we all had the best presents and crackers. When I was six, he gave me my first violin and lessons. It was my best Christmas ever.”
“I take it Mrs. Hudson knew about your father.”
“Yes. She was our cook.”
Gobsmacked, John couldn’t believe it. “What? Mrs. Hudson was your cook? Seriously?”
“Yes. When Father died, he left her enough money to leave service and buy her own property. Mummy was quite miffed. It’s hard to find a good cook.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Why would your father do that, leave Mrs. Hudson that much of an inheritance? Is that normal?”
“Normal is overrated, John.”
“So you’ve said.”
“I assume he left her the money because he felt it was only fair. Our great grandfather wasn’t the most scrupulous of men when it came to his business dealings. It was because of him that Mrs. Hudson and her family lost a great deal of property and money. I suppose it was my father’s way of balancing the scales."
“Well, that was nice of him.”
“It was, but that was my father, nice. He wasn’t brilliant like me or ruthless like Mycroft. He was pleasant and affable, an ex-soldier who hated war and spent hours working in his garden and taking long walks so he could bird watch. He loved music and played several instruments, so he made sure both of his sons had musical opportunities. Every Christmas he would have us play his favorite holiday pieces. Don’t tell him I said this, but my brother is actually quite an accomplished pianist. He could have been a professional if he hadn’t been sucked into the evil workings of the government.”
It was the longest Sherlock had ever talked about his family and it was all said with surprisingly deep affection. John smiled. “He sounds like a great dad.”
“He was.” Sherlock’s voice shifted, suddenly sadder and a bit choked. “When he died, I wasn’t really prepared for the loss or the drastic changes in my life. Like so many things, I’d taken him for granted. I just assumed that he would always be there.”
“But that’s normal. Kids never expect their parents to die.”
Sherlock continued as if he hadn't heard John speak. “We never had Christmas after that. I suppose my general disregard and disparagement is merely a coping mechanism to deal with the loss.” Sherlock lifted his head and met John’s solemn gaze.
"That's very self-aware, Sherlock, even for you."
"Perhaps." Sherlock stared at him a long moment and confessed even more. "I've hated Christmas most of my life, resented what other people had, their families, their faith, the whole good cheer nonsense. I never expected to ever want it again, but I think I’d like to change that.”
“Change it how?”
“Watching you enjoy the season has reminded me of what it was like when I was a child, when my father would make such a fuss.”
“Yeah?”
“I think I’d like to start celebrating again.” Sherlock paused and took a deep breath before he finished. “With you.”
Chest tight, John could hardly believe it. “What’s that mean exactly, with me?”
“Don’t be thick, John. You know what it means.”
“I know what I want it to mean, but I think I need you to spell it out so I don't make a fool of myself.”
“You think I would tease you about wanting a romantic relationship?”
“You’ve teased about worse.”
Sherlock snorted and then shrugged. “True. However, this isn’t one of those times.”
John wanted to get up and move to the sofa, but he still wasn’t convinced. “What’s changed? This isn’t just about Christmas.”
“When you said you needed more than I gave you and were willing to go out with some stranger to get it, it occurred to me that I needed to be more honest about our relationship.”
“I didn’t even know we had relationship.”
“Of course, you did. If nothing else, we’re friends.”
John couldn’t argue with that. “We’re best friends.”
“Yes.”
John spoke carefully, tight fists of fear and hope gripping his insides. “I don’t want to lose that.”
“But you want more. You said so. I want more, too.” Sherlock held out his hand and waited.
John took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “You’re sure? This isn’t some experiment where we shag and then you write it off in the morning, is it?”
“You have trust issues, I understand that. But I promise you, this isn’t an experiment, not on my part.”
“It’d better not be. I’ve learned enough tricks that I could hide your body and the Yarders would never find it.”
“No doubt.” Sherlock grinned wider and kept his arm outstretched and his right hand open. John stood up, moved closer, and took it.
Sherlock pulled him down beside him on the sofa and wrapped a strong arm around his shoulders. John chuckled, his heart warming deep in his chest, and whispered against his partner’s lips just before they kissed. “Happy Christmas.”
The End