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“John, we have to leave now or we won’t make it before the mad traffic rush,” Sherlock called.
“Sherlock, you do realize I’ve never been skiing before? You didn’t tell me what to pack, so I have to figure it out for myself,” came the reply from upstairs.
“I figured you would be able to use common sense,” Sherlock muttered under his breath
“I heard that,” John grumbled, pulling his suitcase down the stairs with a grunt every time he hit a step.
“I’ll get the rental,” Sherlock announced, exiting the flat quickly.
“You could’ve taken the bag,” John yelled after him, picking up his skis half-hazardly as he went out the door.
The car was a prius, which Sherlock complained about nonstop. He said that they weren’t really saving the environment, and that the false advertisement was ridiculous.
John really didn’t care about what car they rented, but the prius was cheap and had enough room for their gear.
The gear was loaded by the time John had made it to the car, the trunk full of skis and boots. John hopped in the drivers seat, making eye contact with Sherlock briefly. Sherlock hadn’t bothered with learning how to drive, so John was in charge of the car.
“I’ll give you the directions on the way,” Sherlock told him.
John nodded, and started the admission.
Roughly three hours and thirty minutes later, they had arrived at the cabin. They had rented it for the weekend, courtesy of Mycroft, who was glad to be rid of his little brother for a while.
They (John) unloaded the car, taking their bags up to the bedroom. The cabin was gorgeous, decorated in slightly modern furniture. The sitting room had one wall that was completely made of glass, looking out on a frozen lake behind the cabin. The wooden floor was covered with animal fur rugs, and a peek into the kitchen proved that the house was completely decorated.
John made his way up the stairs, two bags in each hand. He entered the bedroom, humming to himself. As soon as he looked up, his jaw dropped open. The bedroom was beautiful. The bed was a four-poster, white mattress soft and inviting. The connected bathroom was huge, a walk-in bathtub and a separate shower included.
“Sherlock, we’re in over our heads,” John called, jumping when Sherlock appeared behind him.
“Bloody hell Sherlock, could you not sneak up on me like that?” John cried.
Sherlock looked smug.
“Do you want me to make dinner, or do you want to?” he asked.
“We have food?” John inquired, surprised.
It seemed Mycroft had prepared for everything. Sherlock left without hearing an answer, running lightly down the polished staircase.
They would ski tomorrow, because it was already dark outside, and John wanted to put it off for as long as possible.
He lay on the bed, the mattress sinking to accommodate him. He waited for Sherlock’s call for dinner. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long before he was done.
In the midst of his waiting, John began to doze off, the pillows too soft to keep him awake.
“John!” Sherlock called for the fifteenth time, standing over the oven.
“I realize it took awhile to cook, but if he’s upset about it he would talk to me first,” Sherlock stated aloud, to no one in particular.
Making his way up the stairs, he entered the bedroom. John was sleeping peacefully on the bed, his upturned face lax and calm. Often John had nightmares, and during the day he was always frowning. It was nice to see him peaceful for once. He really needed to smile more.
Sherlock debated waking him up briefly, but decided he wouldn’t be napping much longer, as his breathing was slowly quickening.
He went back downstairs, setting the dinner out on the table. It would be interesting tomorrow, to see John skiing. He himself had never gone before, but it shouldn’t be too hard to pick up if he had calculated the movements right.
John groaned, he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The smell of food wafted into the bedroom, catching his interest. He wandered down the stairs, finding Sherlock waiting at the small dinner table.
“How long was I out?” John asked, seating himself across from Sherlock.
“Not long, perhaps about twenty minutes,” Sherlock replied, beginning to take a small portion of food.
They ate quickly, wanting to get to bed. It was late and John’s nap wouldn’t keep him going for much longer.
As they lay in bed, John turned to Sherlock.
“Don’t pull any of your graceful-as-a-gazelle nonsense tomorrow, I want to have at least a fair chance of being better than you at skiing,” he whispered, promptly going to sleep.
Sherlock refrained from telling him that it wouldn’t be fair if he was holding back.
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They were driving up to the slopes, about a half an hour drive away from their cabin. They would have a choice of a lesson or a free-for-all. So far Sherlock was leaning towards the latter, and John was trying to persuade him against it.
“I don’t actually want to fall, Sherlock,” he pressed, jerking the wheel sharply in order to avoid flying off the cliff.
“I’ll help you, if you need it,” Sherlock said calmly, reaching out to stop a ski pole from skewering John’s head in midair.
John grunted, a sign that he hadn’t even noticed the danger. Poor John, he really wasn’t very observant.
They arrived at the slopes, and got ready to ski. John complained about his gigantic clunky boots, and Sherlock stood by, rolling his eyes every time John tripped. Sherlock himself was having only a small bit of trouble with them. They were quite inconvenient, but they would help him balance later on.
John was tugged past the instructors to the hills. He snuck back a second later, as Sherlock was distracted by his ski getting stuck in a mound of snow.
“John, I can teach you, it’s physics,” Sherlock sighed, pulling John away once more.
After being taught the basics by a passerby, John decided it was worth the risk, and let Sherlock help him into his skis.
“Let’s start at the beginner slope,” John said nervously, pulling Sherlock to the chairlift.
It was a short ride, that included John almost falling off twice, and Sherlock nearly losing his ski pole in the scuffle.
As they touched down, John gasped, sliding down the mound of snow at the bottom of the lift, turning sharply on reflex. Sherlock slid down with slightly more grace, coming to a halt on the side of the mound.
John gulped, looking down the hill. It was an awful sharp decline.
“Come on John!” Sherlock called, sliding down the hill with ease.
John sighed, slowly pushing himself over the edge. Everything was going well until about halfway through, when John’s skis decided they wanted to marry each other, crisscrossing and making him wobble.
“Sherlock!” John shouted, flailing his poles.
“John, calm down, you have to take your skis out of that gigantic V,” Sherlock said, gliding up beside him.
The hill didn’t seem to be ending anytime soon, and John’s skis were not cooperating.
He shrieked, swerving off to the side involuntarily. And then, then there were trees.
“Bloody hell I knew I should have taken a lesson,” John swore, as he crashed.
There was a jumble of skis, and John was tangled. The impact hurt less than expected, but it wasn’t compensation for the way Sherlock slid up beside him.
“Sherlock,” John thundered, “Help me up,”
Sherlock drew John up easily, pulling him against his chest.
“You have no idea how cute you look with all those layers on,” Sherlock whispered, “Although it is not my fault that you flew into that tree,”
John turned a new shade of red.
“Sh-sherlock what?” he stammered.
Sherlock pulled John closer, and kissed him. John let out a little whimper, reaching up tentatively to put his hands in Sherlock’s curls. They kissed until John was gasping for air, as he had quite forgotten how to breathe through his nose.
It was true that John looked cute. He had on multiple sweaters, and it had turned him into a fluffy ball.
“I’m going to fuck you as soon as we get off this hill,” Sherlock continued, watching John’s knees turn to jelly.
To be quite honest, the only reason Sherlock said that was because he had heard someone say something like that on the telly, and it ended with pleasant results.
“Sherlock I--oh,” John stuttered.
Needless to say, the bathtub was worth its size.