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A Hallmark Christmas
By Joolz
“I’m not going!”
“You really don’t have an option, Brother Mine.”
“There must be a better choice than that.”
“It is somewhere you know like the back of your hand, and the estate is surrounded by a six-foot wall. No-one could creep up on you there without you knowing.”
“It’s also the place I hated most when I was growing up and vowed to never go back.”
“You know that was mainly down to the presence of Father; not to the property or locale.”
“It’s true I enjoyed roaming the grounds which is why, as soon as he found out, that’s what he forbade me from doing.”
“I can’t believe you would have let that stop you.”
Sherlock smirked, “I didn’t; I just used more ingenious methods of escaping. That was where I honed my lock-picking techniques so I suppose, in a way, I should be grateful, but I can’t muster up even that towards him.”
“I know you abhor repetition, Little Brother, as I do myself, but I am sorry I wasn’t there to protect you from his disdain. None of us knew how much it all escalated when Mummy passed away.”
“Much as I would like to blame you,” he smiled wryly at Mycroft, “he only did it when you were away at university. He always made a special effort when you come home for any holidays, rare as those occasions were.”
“I should have noticed, though. That is what we do.”
“As you always like to say – ‘caring is not an advantage’.”
“But you’re my brother.”
“And he was your father. You saw what he wanted you to see.”
“You still should have said something.”
“What would have been the point. You were always his favourite, so he was different with you anyway.”
“Just as Mummy always favoured you.”
“She loved you, Mycroft; she often extolled your virtues and achievements. She was just able to see what Father was like and she tried to make up for how he treated me.”
Mycroft looked a little surprised at that, not realising that Mummy had spoken so well of him to Sherlock. “Well, I…”
“She was always excited when you came home, but she rarely got to spend a lot of time with you as Father hogged your attention; grooming you for your political career.”
Mycroft seemed lost for words still so Sherlock carried on.
“I suppose I don’t have any choice in the matter. You’re correct that I need to disappear from sight whilst this business is resolved, and I shouldn’t allow Father’s contempt to keep me from returning.”
“That’s very mature of you, Sherlock.”
Sherlock snorted, “That’s something you’ve never called me before.”
Mycroft smiled at him, “Maybe we’re entering a new era.”
Sherlock laughed, “Maybe not.”
~*~
When the taxi dropped him off at the manor Sherlock looked up at the windows of his childhood home and he was assailed by a torrent of memories. The majority were unpleasant ones of his father, but an occasional happy recollection popped up as he looked around. He pushed the bad memories back down and locked them in the basement of his mind palace where he kept them hidden away.
He left his bags by the front door and wandered to the edge of the terrace, looking into the grounds, and focused on the happier thoughts. He remembered, before Mycroft had left for school, when he would toddle around after him everywhere and Mycroft would always play with him. They would go into the meadow behind the house and Sherlock would raise his arms and say ‘Fly My’ and Mycroft would lift him into the air and spin him around until Sherlock was shrieking with laughter. They would collapse down on to the grass – this was before Mycroft had been as bothered by getting his clothes dirty – and after a day of such activities Sherlock would often fall asleep sprawled across Mycroft’s chest. Mycroft had always kept a book in his pocket for such an occasion and he would lie reading peacefully, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s curls until he awoke.
Sherlock missed the days when they had been that close. It had all changed when Mycroft had gone to university and rarely came home; often staying to do extra assignments during the holidays. Then, of course, Mummy had passed away and everything had changed. He shook his head to clear those thoughts; not wanting to revisit them again.
Sherlock went back to the entrance and his bags had gone. His arrival had obviously been noted and his things would have already been taken to his room and unpacked if Jackson was up to his usual standards, which Sherlock didn’t doubt. In the foyer the Christmas garlands had all been elegantly displayed and he was sure the usual eight foot tree would be tastefully adorned in the drawing room.
He walked down to the kitchen to see if Mrs Jackson was there and had done any baking in readiness for his arrival. He needn’t have worried as many delicious smells floated out as he opened the door. The decorations in here were more haphazard and homely in nature and Sherlock had always much preferred these. The tree here was much shorter, but the tinsel and baubles were placed more naturally. It showcased some handmade decorations, including one he had made himself in his younger days on prominent display which made him smile whimsically.
It seemed Mrs Jackson had worked herself into a baking frenzy conjuring up all his favourites.
“Hello, Mrs Jackson, you’ve been busy.”
“Master Sherlock, you’re here! Oh, it’s lovely to see you again after all this time.” She was a short, buxom lady and one of the few people that Sherlock would permit to hug him – mainly because she had never taken no as an answer, and she had known him since he was born. This time was no different and she enveloped him in her warm arms; the scent of her baking surrounding him, as it did her.
“It’s nice to see you, too.” Sherlock added, “and if that amazing aroma is coming from your infamous scones, then you might be my favourite person ever.”
“Of course it is. As if I wouldn’t make my special scones and pair them with some of my best homemade blackcurrant jam just for you. Now, sit down and I’ll prepare you one before you go off to explore.”
“I’m not a child; I don’t ‘explore’,” Sherlock huffed, trying to look offended but failing miserably when a fully slathered scone was placed in front of him.
“Oh, get away with you, you know what I mean. You’ll want to go and put your own stamp on things and update your memories of everything and see what’s changed. You were the same every time you came back from school and you’re going to want to do it even more so after so long.
Sherlock finished his scone and even licked the jam that was oozing over his fingers. He smiled at Mrs Jackson and, falling back on a nickname he hadn’t used since his youth, added, “You are a baking genius, Cooky.”
Mrs Jackson beamed at him and stood next to his chair putting her arm around his shoulders. “You’re quite welcome, sweetheart. Come back when you’ve finished, and I’ll have another one ready for you.”
Sherlock grinned at her. “You have a deal.”
He left the kitchen and went off to see what had changed in his absence.
When he got up to the first floor of the east wing, he saw Jackson coming out of his bedroom.
“Hello, Jackson.”
“Hello Master Sherlock. Your luggage has all been unpacked and put away. Everything has been aired and freshened but I’ve made sure nothing else has been touched in your room, as always.
“Thank you.” He pushed open the door and his eyes quickly scanned the room seeing that everything was in its correct place, just as Jackson had said. He walked closer to his bookshelves, his fingers running along the line of books as he read all the recognised titles. He may have to take a few of these back to London with him as he remembered experiments he had planned to perform from the last time he was here.
When he’d finished examining his room - including checking the dust experiment he had left under the wardrobe in his dressing room - he went to Mycroft’s room across the corridor. Mycroft’s room hadn’t changed a lot either, though he noted that the bathroom had been repainted since he’d left. In all fairness that was probably his fault as he’d been growing a mould culture in the bathtub whilst Mycroft was away. The magnifying glass he’d left on the windowsill had reflected the sun onto the specimen, setting it on fire. The discovery of that by his father after it had set off the smoke alarm was the final straw that had led to Sherlock’s departure.
Sherlock walked around the rest of the upstairs, pausing in Mummy’s room when he spotted a bottle of her perfume on the dressing table. He sprayed it lightly into the air and the scent took him right back to lying at the bottom of her bed chatting to her, explaining all his latest experiments. She would always indulge him and listen with genuine interest to his many thoughts and ideas.
He then went downstairs, walking through all the rooms, noticing the small differences here and there. He smiled when he saw he was correct in his prediction of the elegant Christmas tree in the drawing room. Mummy’s wishes and good taste were still in place even after all this time.
Eventually he ended up back in the kitchen. The Jacksons were both in there having a cup of tea and Mrs Jackson jumped up and made a fresh one for him along with a scone which she prepared for each of them.
“It’s good that you came home again; I haven’t had one of these scones for ages.” Mr Jackson smiled at him. “She doesn’t do quite as much baking if it’s just the two of us and it must be a good three months since Master Mycroft last visited.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Well, he does actually, that’s probably why it’s been a while since his last visit as he’s been on a health kick for a couple of months, and he knows he can’t resist your cooking.” Sherlock smiled at Mrs Jackson and finished his scone.
~*~
As it was still early, Sherlock decided to walk into the village to see if anything had changed down there since he had lived here. Every building was sure to be highly decorated as it was only one more day until the annual tree-lighting ceremony. This involved a large tree in the middle of the village green that was strung with fairy lights in the lead-up to Christmas. On the evening of the ceremony everyone took one of the special globe lights and hung it on the tree and made a wish for the year ahead. Then the switch was flipped and the lights shone out over the whole green to great cheers and everyone would start singing Christmas carols. He would have to make sure he didn’t go out tomorrow – that was to be avoided at all costs!
He strolled down the tree-lined lane past the walls of the estate and then cut across the field towards the village shop to see if the Thomas’s were still behind the counter. Mr Thomas ran the post office on one side and his wife sold the general produce on the other. She had always had a bit of a soft spot for Sherlock as he had been quite cherubic as a young child – well, certainly in looks if not in behaviour.
As he neared the path to the main street, he had to wait for another man who was climbing over the stile. They smiled at each other as they passed, but before Sherlock could climb up himself there was a noise of a car backfiring round the corner. Sherlock suddenly found himself flat on his back with the other man lying on top of him, with an arm sheltering his head.
“Keep your head down!”
“Stand down, doctor; it was just a car.”
The man raised his head and looked around and it came back to him that he was in a field in England and not back on the battlefield. He pulled off quickly and sat back on his heels, looking embarrassed.
“Sorry! I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it was just your natural instinct.”
“How do you know that?”
“You haven’t been back from the battlefield long enough for that sort of noise to be associated with anything except gunfire.”
“How can you possibly know I’ve recently come home?”
“Your haircut says military and when you had your arm up protecting my head, I could see that the tan only goes as far as your wrists so you obviously had some kind of uniform covering the rest of your body; thus soldier. Judging from your protective manner I would say you were an officer used to taking care of people, most likely a medical man; thus doctor. You also have an injury as evidenced by your awkward climb over the stile and your walking stick, so you have likely been invalided home. I have to say it is most likely the injury is psychosomatic, though, if you look at the evidence. Such as the speed with which you crossed back to protect me; the way you are now crouching with no adverse effect to the leg which you were favouring; and the fact that your walking stick is a good ten metres away and you are making no effort to retrieve it.”
“That… was amazing.”
“Really?”
“Of course, it was extraordinary, quite extraordinary.”
“That’s not what people usually say.”
“What do they usually say?”
“Piss off.”
The man burst out laughing, but it was clear that it was at the comment not at Sherlock’s expense, so he soon joined him. They both got to their feet and the man held out his hand.
“John Watson, doctor and soldier.”
“Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.”
“Consulting detective?”
“When the police are in trouble they consult me.”
“Well, if what you do is anything like the demonstration you just gave then I can see why.”
Sherlock smiled with shy pride. It wasn’t often that people believed what he said or were impressed by it instead of instantly angry. He walked over and picked up John’s stick.
“Do you want this back, or do you now consider it as unnecessary as I do?”
John took a couple of steps, tentatively at first, then more confidently, walking a circle around Sherlock. He did a couple of squats and then laughed freely as he realised he was cured.
“You were discharged for an injury, though?”
“Yeah. Shot in the shoulder by a sniper when I was out in the field.”
“So, what’s brought you here; to the back of beyond?”
“I don’t think it’s quite that bad”, John smiled at him.
“Pretty much. You just haven’t been here long enough to figure that out yet.”
“True. One of my old colleagues runs the local GP practice and his partner is off on maternity leave, so I said I’d help him out for a couple of weeks until she comes back.”
“Well, you’re lucky I came back when I did to save you from the boredom of sore throats and in-growing toenails. A trauma surgeon would stagnate in a place like this.”
“Unfortunately, trauma surgery is a little outside my sphere now. The shoulder injury left me with an intermittent tremor so GP work may be all I’m left with.”
“Nonsense. You could work in one of the Accident & Emergency trauma centres in London with no problem. Immediate emergency medicine just needs a cool head and fast reflexes; both of which you have already demonstrated you have in abundance.”
“That’s all a bit fast, isn’t it? Getting a job isn’t such an easy prospect you know.”
“Of course it is. You just need to know the right people; and luckily for you, I do.” Sherlock’s lips spread in a wide smile.
John shook his head. He couldn’t quite believe what was happening.
“You may also find that there could be an opening for a Consulting Medical Professional to assist a Consulting Detective in his casework in his spare time.”
“Are you saying I could work with you? We don’t even know each other.”
“What more do we need to know. I’ve seen everything important, and you’ll get to know me when we get started.”
“You make it sound so easy. I can’t just move to London; there’s no way I could afford to live there for a start.”
“I was just going to look into a new place in Baker Street before I had to leave. The landlady owes me a favour so I’m sure she’d give us a good deal.”
“Us? You want us to be flatmates? We’ve only just met.”
“Why waste time when it’s clear that we’d get along just fine.”
“Is it? How on earth can you know that?”
“My work involves serious crimes and you would be able to handle any kind of injuries and wounds with your background skills and you could prove invaluable to me in giving a medical opinion to confirm my deductions. Can you honestly tell me you can see your future in this small village when you could have the thrills and danger of the capital?”
John looked at him, assessing how he could know all that on such a short acquaintance. How could he know that John was already bored out of his head, and he’d only been here two weeks? To think of working as a GP for the rest of his life held no appeal at all.
“Wait a minute; you just said you were going to look into a place before you had to leave. Why did you have to leave?”
“Well spotted, John, I did say that; I wondered if you’d notice.”
John smiled shyly. Somehow, he knew that getting praise from this man was not easy to accomplish so he was glad he had asked.
“Unfortunately, I have had to absent myself from town for a short while whilst a small matter of some death threats is being sorted. Usually, I would deal with this myself, but the last attempt was a little too close for comfort and my brother insisted I come home whilst he sets his plan into action. That is also why I was looking for a new residence as my last accommodation is a little flatter than it used to be.”
“Do you mean it was blown up?” John’s eyebrows rose, “Does that happen to you a lot?”
Sherlock grinned at John, “Don’t tell me the thought of some action doesn’t excite you as much as it does me.”
John couldn’t help a return grin - it really did. What was wrong with him? Why was he even considering this?
“You said ‘home’? Do you live here then?”
“I used to. This is where I grew up, and my brother still owns our family property.”
“Really? Round here?”
“You’re actually standing on it right now. The main property is behind that wall, but we also own the surrounding countryside, including the village.”
“Wow, that really does count as ‘property’ then, doesn’t it. Are you sure you need a flatmate if you have access to that kind of money?”
“Mycroft is the one that owns the estate. My money is all in a Trust for various reasons and I refuse to go ‘cap in hand’ to Mycroft asking for more to pay rent.”
“Can’t say I blame you on that front. My sister offered for me to go and live with her when I got back, but the thought held no appeal whatsoever. Siblings, am I right!”
“Truer words were never spoken. So, would you like to come back to the house with me? I can hardly go into the village with my clothes so muddy.”
“Sorry about that,” John looked embarrassed, but Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.
“I consider it a fortuitous happenstance as it is unlikely we would have met without it, and I cannot regret that.”
John looked down, blushing. He had never been affected by anyone as much nor as quickly as he had with Sherlock. He followed as Sherlock turned round and headed back in the direction from whence he came. Sherlock led them in through the back door and straight in to the kitchen.
“Meet Dr John Watson, Cooky, I think he would benefit greatly from a cup of tea and one of your excellent scones.”
“Oh, I really don’t want to impose.”
“Hello Doctor. It’s no imposition at all and a pleasure to meet a friend of Sherlock’s.” Mrs Jackson beamed at him and gestured towards the table, “Both of you have a seat and I’ll boil the kettle.”
John was given no choice in the matter and he soon found himself with a cup of tea and the most delicious scone he had ever tasted.
“This is just heavenly, thank you so much.”
“Isn’t it just. Have another one, John. The only reason I won’t have another now is because I had two before I set out or I’d be joining you.”
John found another scone put before him and couldn’t resist tucking in with a deep sigh, almost a moan, of pleasure. He was too busy eating to notice the way Sherlock blushed at hearing the noise. Mrs Jackson didn’t, however, and vowed she would do everything she could to prolong their acquaintance. Anything for her Sherlock.
“Would you like to stay for dinner, Dr Watson, I’m sure Master Sherlock would enjoy some younger company than us fuddy duddies?”
“Please call me, John, but I really couldn’t put you out like that.”
“It’s really no problem and you may be able to get this one to actually eat for once.”
Sherlock muttered under his breath, “I eat.”
“Devouring scones doesn’t count as eating a proper meal, young man.”
John grinned at him. “Well, in that case, I would be remiss in my duty as a doctor if I didn’t ensure adequate dietary requirements were being followed.”
Sherlock pouted at them both as they laughed, “Whose side are you on?”
“I’ll have dinner ready at six thirty in the dining room so why don’t you take John on a tour of the house and gardens whilst you’re waiting. It’ll allow you both a chance to work off those scones and give yourself an appetite for later.”
“Thank you Cooky, we’ll see you later.”
Sherlock led the way out and John happily followed to explore the property. Once they had finished inside the house they went into the grounds and Sherlock took great pleasure in showing John his old tree house in the far corner of the orchard. He had planned it himself and made it with the help of Peter, the gardener. It had an ingenious pulley system hooked through the branches and around the trunk which allowed access and he was thrilled to see it still worked so they went inside. It was a bit of a tight squeeze with both of them in there but they could sit down if they didn’t move too much.
Sherlock showed him his secret hidey hole concealed between two branches where he found a pack of cards and his old book of tricks. He had, of course, known how the tricks were done as soon as he saw them but he had practised to get the manual dexterity to be able to perform them himself. His sleight of hand had served him well a few times when he had been trying to fool people for a case and he could perform a perfect riffle of cards when shuffling. John was easily impressed by all of it, and Sherlock found himself enamoured by having a willing audience for once.
They finally made their way back to the house when it was nearly time to eat and were firmly shooed out of the kitchen when they offered to eat with the Jacksons.
“Don’t be silly, boys, I’ve laid the table in the dining room, it’s all ready for you.”
“You didn’t have to do that; we could have eaten here.”
“That’s not very festive. I’ve lit the candles in there and everything, so you go and enjoy it.”
When they entered the dining room they saw that it did, indeed, look very Christmassy with decorations all round. The candelabra in the middle of the table had been moved to one end and their places had been set together to allow them to chat more easily and there were crackers next to their plates.
“These look like the crackers that Jackson used to make when I was younger. He always managed to get special little toys that he would put inside. I wonder if he made these as well?”
“Best way to check is to pull them, I suppose,” John grinned at him.
They held both crackers out and took an end each and pulled together. John laughed as he ended up with both full ends.
“I learned that trick with Harry, you have to hold just past the bow and then it gives you more leverage. It used to drive her nuts that I always won.”
John gave the red one to Sherlock as that had been beside his plate and he wanted to see if Sherlock was correct about the prizes. They opened them up and Sherlock exclaimed at a compact magnifier; it was just perfect. John looked as his prize and was gratified to see a small penknife. He’d used to have one as a boy and had always found it handy. He’d lost his last one in Afghanistan and it was nice to have a new one. John put on his hat though Sherlock seemed more reluctant.
“You have to put your hat on, it’s a tradition.”
“An unnecessary tradition.”
“Nonsense, you have to wear a party hat when you pull a cracker, it adds to the fun.”
Sherlock pulled a face, but did open his hat and put it on.
“I suppose at least it’s purple and not a sickly green colour or something.”
“True, that shade matches your shirt very well. If Jackson did make these then he knows what suits you.”
“He chose yours well, too. That shade of blue contrasts nicely with your blonde hair and it is the same colour as your eyes.”
John blushed, “Um, is it? Thank you… for noticing, I mean.”
“I notice everything, John, or have you not realised that yet.”
John laughed and Sherlock smiled back at him. Flirting wasn’t something he usually did, but he enjoyed the fact that it was so easy to talk to John and he found he liked to make him blush.
The evening progressed smoothly with both of them telling parts of their life stories, with Sherlock trying to deduce as much as he could and John being greatly impressed when he mostly got it right. They both seemed reluctant for the evening to end but, eventually, John had to go as he was working in the morning.
“I’ve had an amazing evening but, unfortunately, I have a shift in the clinic tomorrow.”
“I suppose you’ll have to go then. Will I see you again?”
“I’ve been told that it’s the tree-lighting ceremony tomorrow night so I assume I’ll see you there.”
“You assume wrong. Why would I want to go to that stupid thing? It’s just a load of sentimental nonsense!”
“What do you mean? From what my patients have been telling me, it’s sounds like great fun.”
“Carrying stupid little lights to a big tree and singing songs – how does that sound in any way like it might be fun?”
“I guess it depends on who you’re doing it with.”
“Why would that make any difference?”
“Everything is better with two. Why don’t you come with me and see?”
“I don’t see how that can make any difference but I’ll come just to prove you wrong.”
John grinned at him, “Thank you, Sherlock. You won’t regret it.”
“I already am.”
John chuckled as they made their way to the door and he shook Sherlock’s hand warmly, pulling him in for a hug as he did so before he waved goodbye and headed home. Sherlock stood in the doorway for a while, staring after him, not used to such close contact. He mused on the unexpectedly enjoyable evening they had had and shook his head when he realised he had agreed to go to the stupid festival.
~*~
The next evening Sherlock left with the Jacksons and they all headed into the village. The couple split off to meet some of their friends and he went on to the surgery where John had said he was staying in the little flat above whilst he was working here. John was just coming out as Sherlock arrived.
“That was good timing.”
“The sooner this thing starts; the sooner we can leave.”
“Don’t be like that, it’ll be fun. Honestly.”
“Hmm; we shall see.”
John put his arm around Sherlock’s shoulder and squeezed gently.
“Come on, you’ll enjoy it.”
They walked down to the village green where everyone was gathering. Some people were already spaced around the tree holding their little lanterns and others were waiting to collect theirs from the tables set up outside the pub. They joined the queue and when they reached the front they were each given one of the globe lights and a pen to write on the tag hanging at the bottom.
Sherlock didn’t know what he was supposed to write. He glanced across at John who was looking thoughtful. He wrote: To making new acquaintances and solving crimes. John was also jotting down a wish on his own card, but Sherlock couldn’t see what he had written.
They walked over to join the group around the tree, finding a space where they could each reach a branch. As the clock chimed eight o’clock everyone stepped forward and hung their light on the tree. When everyone had put them on, including one last child who had to be lifted up to reach the branch he wanted to hang his light upon, they stood back.
One of the local primary school children had been chosen to turn the lights on so she solemnly walked over to where the vicar and her teacher were waiting next to the switch. The little girl proudly looked out at the crowd and shouted ‘Merry Christmas’ and flicked the switch.
Everyone gasped as the lights all shone out on the tree and they all cheered and started clapping. Even Sherlock got caught up in the moment as he looked over at John’s excited face.
The vicar started them off singing ‘O Come All Ye Faithful’ and everyone very quickly joined in until they were all standing around the tree singing. Carols at Midnight Mass was something Sherlock had always enjoyed and when it got to the chorus his deep baritone could be heard doing the ‘O Come’ harmony. John looked at him and smiled and on the next one he joined in with a fake falsetto and did the ‘O Come’ too. Sherlock almost did a double take as his gaze flicked over to John. When he saw the grin he laughed and did his next ‘O Come’ even deeper as John went higher. The pair started giggling like naughty school boys and finished the song in the same fashion; each of them trying to go higher or lower than the last one. They calmed down a little for the next song which was Silent Night followed by Away In A Manger and Little Donkey for the children. They finished with We Wish You A Merry Christmas and everyone cheered again, shouting Merry Christmas and shaking hands and hugging each other as the ceremony finished.
John turned to Sherlock and put his arms around him. He leaned his head against Sherlock’s neck and whispered in his ear.
“Merry Christmas Sherlock Holmes. I’m very happy I met you.”
“Merry Christmas John Watson. Likewise; it has been an unexpected pleasure making your acquaintance.”
John leaned back so that he could look up at Sherlock but he didn’t drop his arms, keeping Sherlock held snugly within them.
“So… were you serious about me moving to London and getting a flat share? I find that I’m going to be looking for somewhere new after Christmas when Dr Lewis returns to her practice.”
“I most certainly was. I can think of nothing I would enjoy more than having the right kind of companionship in my home and my work."
“I think I’d like that too. I’ve been yearning for something since I got back and I think assisting a Consulting Detective would be just the sort of excitement I’ve been missing.”
They leaned in to hug again before they broke apart and grinned cheerfully. They looked around them; everyone was happily smiling and laughing with each other. It hadn’t been quite the disaster Sherlock had been expecting. It seemed John had been right; somehow it was better to have someone with whom to enjoy the ceremony.
People started to disperse; the parents taking their children home and a lot of the adults making their way over to the pub. The Jacksons waved to John and Sherlock as they headed back to the manor.
“Would you like to come in for a nightcap,” John asked? “It looks as if the pub is going to be a little busy and my place is a little nearer than yours.”
“That would be delightful, thank you.”
As John turned away to head back to the flat, Sherlock quickly reached up to the light John had hung to read the message. John had put: To a new friendship and a new love. Sherlock blinked, smiled, then quickly caught up to John. He put his arm around John’s shoulder as John had done to him earlier and was rewarded with a pleased smile and an arm slipping around his waist. Maybe there was something to be said for this sentimental stuff in spite of his earlier doubts. It was certainly looking like being a happier Christmas than he had been expecting. Perhaps coming home hadn’t been such a bad decision after all.
~*~
End
~*~