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It wasn’t uncommon to see John Watson and Irene Adler in close proximity to each other. After all, they were both officers of the school’s LGBT+ club, had several friends in common, both liked horror movies, and they both enjoyed a good snog every now and again. Of course, none of these had anything to do with what John needed.
“Hey Irene,” John said one day, spotting her in the library and acting before he could lose his nerve. “I…ah…I need to ask you something. Can we talk?”
Irene glanced up, a smirk starting to form on her bright red lips. “Sure, Captain. Anything for the star rugby player.”
John let out a quick breath, glancing around to make sure that no one could overhear them. Then he sat down, facing Irene earnestly. “I just…if you wanted to flirt with someone, how would you do it?”
“Three-campus Watson is asking me for flirting advice?” Irene snorted. “You have no issues flirting with girls, Captain. What are you really trying to ask?”
“This person is a bit more special,” John said, hoping to sound vague. “He…I mean-”
“Oh!” Irene interrupted, her smirk growing into a grin. “Mr ‘I’m-only-in-this-to-support-my-sister’ finally comes clean. Who is he?”
“What makes you think you know him?” John retorts, his cheeks reddening. It had been his tact at first, joining the club under the guise of supporting his freshly-out-of-the-closet sister. It wasn’t that he was open about it now, but he never did get around to correcting people in the club.
“I’m a lesbian, John.” Irene deadpanned. “You wouldn’t come to me for flirting advice if I didn’t know the man.”
“You’re good at flirting with men, though!” John countered weakly. Irene stared at him, one perfect eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Fine. It’s ah…it’s Sherlock.”
“I knew it!” She cried, “Oh my god, I can’t wait to tell him!”
“Please don’t!” John asked in desperation. “I don’t want to scare him off.”
Irene snorted, but she settled down. “Fine, what do plan to do, then?”
“Um…it is Christmas time.” John shrugged. “I thought I would…get him gifts?”
“A secret santa and secret admirer in one?” Irene looked positively delighted. “How romantic.”
“I don’t have anything planned or anything,” John said. “I just…thought you might have some ideas, is all. Seeing as you’re friends.”
“Oh, and I do!” Irene said with excitement. “You could do something based on the song 12 days of Christmas where you get him-”
“I’m not getting him a partridge in a pear tree,” John interrupted flatly. “Just something simple.”
“Twelve simple things?” Irene suggested, with a wiggle of her eyebrows.
“You want me to go twelve days of Christmas on him?” John asked helplessly.
“God, yes. He deserves something sappy and romantic.” Irene said. “Romance the poor boy.”
“Fine. But no turtledoves.” John huffed.
“No, I’ve got a better idea.”
“An ink cartridge.” John sighed. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”
“Sherlock is running out of ink for his printer.” Irene shrugged. “He’s been putting it off for weeks, and then complaining about it. Mostly I want him to shut up.”
“But why does it have to be in an inflatable mini palm tree?” John asked, glaring at the ink cartridge that Irene had forced him to buy, taped to the top of the palm tree. “It’s ridiculous.”
“They didn’t have any inflatable pear trees,” Irene replied with a smirk. “Come on, it’s adorable.”
“He’s going to think I’m a complete idiot,” John groaned.
“He already does, but that’s not the point, Captain.” Irene replied, looking around the halls to make sure no one was coming. She grabbed a piece of paper out of her pocket, handing it to John. “Here’s his locker combination. Go put the cartridge and the note you typed into his locker, then scram!”
“Would he really be able to figure out it was my handwriting?” John asked, pulling out the note. On the front, the words “On the first day of Christmas…” taunted him. God, he was making a huge mistake.
“Go!” Irene hissed, and she gave him a shove. John stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet. He righted himself, shooting Irene a glare before walking over to Sherlock’s locker.
“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…” John mumbled, quickly unlocking Sherlock’s locker. He placed the ridiculous tree-cartridge combo on top of Sherlock’s chemistry books. “A cartridge in a palm tree.”
John sighed, shutting Sherlock’s locker and darting away. He stopped in front of Irene briefly, nodding once in confirmation.
“Let me know if he hates it, alright?” He said. Irene just smiled, shooing him away.
The rest of the day dragged on, and John kept glancing around, sure that Sherlock would appear to scoff at him for his ridiculous idea. Of course, John only saw him in chemistry; it was the only class they shared together.
Not that John talked to Sherlock much as it was. The few times that John managed to speak to him, he always messed it up. He considered it a success if Sherlock completely ignored him, but usually he was given an odd look.
When John got to chemistry, he didn’t notice anything different. Sherlock didn’t seem any more or less annoyed. He was still sharp with the professor when he said something incorrect, his comebacks still making John laugh.
Everything seemed normal, yet when John left the campus that afternoon he caught a glimpse of Sherlock. The inflatable palm tree and cartridge was clutched tight in his hand, and a confused look on his face.
“Okay, you’ve been awfully secretive about this second gift.” John said, peeking into the shopping bag. The two small pirate ships were nestled safely in their boxes.
“I told you, Sherlock should be the one to tell you.” Irene said, leading him out of the store.
“Yeah, that’s great and all, but if he finds out that these gifts are from me, he’s going to ask why I bought him two pirate ships instead of turtledoves.” John replied.
“ If ?” Irene asked, turning to him. “You mean when , right Captain?”
“Right,” John said quickly, and Irene gave him a suspicious glare, but didn’t respond to that.
“Fine. Sherlock wanted to be a pirate when he was little,” Irene said. “He’s always been fond of pirate paraphernalia, and after months of teasing him, he finally admitted why.”
“That’s…adorable, actually,” John said with a grin.
“God, you two are going to be the most obnoxious couple ever,” Irene said, trying to hide a smile of her own.
“Yeah, first Sherlock actually has to like me back.” John replied with a roll of his eyes.
Irene looked unimpressed. “You’re the captain of the school’s rugby team, an officer of the LGBT+ club, and you’re rather handsome for a bloke. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“And Sherlock is a super genius that has only looked at me when I’ve said something idiotic. We’re a match made in heaven.” John said with a snort.
“Don’t think so hard about it, Captain.” Irene said kindly. “You’ll be fine. Now, I can’t come shopping with you every day, so can I trust you to do this on your own?”
“Yeah, sure.” John shrugged. “Any specific gifts that I should be getting, or is the rest just up to me?”
“Well, I have an idea for day five,” Irene admitted. “But I’ll let you know when the times comes.”
John nodded, then looked at the pirate ships one last time. “So, on the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: two pirate ships?”
“And a cartridge in a palm tree.” Irene added on. “You’ve got to keep the song going, Captain.”
“He’s going to laugh in my face,” John said, rolling his eyes. “Just you wait.”
“I’ve been waiting for a while,” Irene shrugged. “11 more days won’t kill me.”
“What do you mean, you’ve been waiting for a while?” John asked, his eyes widening. “Have I really been that obvious?”
Irene refused to answer, laughing all the way home.
The next day, Sherlock is much nicer to their chemistry professor, and doesn’t even correct the man when he confused barium and beryllium. At first, John thinks it could be a coincidence, but when he sees one of the pirate ships poking out of his rucksack, he grins in triumph.
On day four, Irene whisked John out of his history lecture, citing some ridiculous rugby emergency as she came storming into the class. The professor believed every word, letting John leave without as much as a complaint.
“The crosses need to be oiled?” John snorted as soon as the door swung shut. “I’m pretty sure that’s a lacrosse stick, and you don’t need to oil them.”
“He bought it, though.” Irene smirked, leading John out of the building at an alarming rate. “I thought about creating a LGBT+ emergency, but let’s be honest. Professors are much more likely to turn a blind eye when it comes to sports.”
“Even sports they don’t know?”
“Just so.” Irene said, unlocking her car and slipping into the driver’s seat. “Come on, we have to hurry if we want to pick up tomorrow’s gift.”
“Five gold rings?” John asked with a raise of his eyebrow.
“No. Even better, Captain.” Irene said. “Do you remember that time that I dragged Sherlock to a meeting, and he rambled on about bees to punish me?”
John smiled at the memory. Even though they hadn’t gotten anything productive done, it was the first time John had gotten to listen to Sherlock speak. Really speak, not the two word sentences you usually got when he thought you were annoying.
“Oh my god, you’ve gone all sappy on me,” Irene said, faux-disgusted. “Well, I discovered that he’s actually just really passionate about bees.”
“So we’re going to get him bees?” John asked with a chuckle.
“Golden bees, John.” Irene said cheerfully. “My dad owns a chain of jewellery stores. He gets odd requests sometimes, for things other than jewellery. Usually golden cats of the like.”
“He’d make golden bees for me?” John asked.
“Of course he would.” Irene said. “And at a discount too. You’re welcome.”
“Well, that’s definitely better than three French rolls.” John admitted, thinking back to the last two days of gifts. “And four blue scarves.”
“Actually, those were great gifts,” Irene said. “Sherlock ate two french rolls for lunch yesterday. I’m thinking he’d reluctant to eat the last one. Such a romantic gesture shouldn’t go to waste.”
“And the scarves?” John snorted.
“He’s been wearing one of the new ones all day.” Irene said, a small smile on her face. “Looks positively smitten.”
They pulled up in front of an ornate store, Adler’s Fine Jewellery scrawled in perfect gold lettering about the door. Irene parked, then she led John inside.
Diamonds, rubies and sapphires glittered from every display case. Gold necklaces were laid out with care, bracelets glittering with purples and browns and greens interspersed among them. John was so distracted, that he didn’t notice the man standing behind the counter at first.
“Hello, dad.” Irene said. “We’ve come to pick up the golden bees.”
Mr Adler surveyed John for a few moments, and John straightened instinctually. He had a feeling that if he wanted to date Sherlock, he would need to get this man’s approval.
“I’ve been friends with Sherlock’s father since I was in grade school,” Mr Adler said, his face carefully blank. “Sherlock is like a son to me. I won’t have you hurt him.”
“I…I wouldn’t!” John spluttered slightly. “I would never-”
“Trust me, dad. He wouldn’t.” Irene said, rolling her eyes at both men. “I wouldn’t let just anyone date Sherlock.”
Mr Adler watched John for a few moment’s longer, then nodded once before turning back to Irene. “You both protect each other. Well, if you trust them, darling, then I do too.”
Mr Adler leaned down, fumbling for a moment before standing back up, a box in his hands. He lifted the box carefully, and John couldn’t help but stare.
There, nestled on the velvety-blue lining, sat five perfect, golden bees. They looked, as far as John was aware, impeccably proportioned. John wouldn’t have been surprised if they had come to life and started to buzz away with as lifelike as they were.
“Sir, they’re spectacular, but I don’t think…that is to say, I don’t know if I can afford-”
“They’re on the house,” Mr Adler interrupted. John stared at him, his mouth agape.
“Sir, I can’t accept charity,” He argued.
“It’s not charity. It’s a gift for Sherlock.” Mr Adler countered. “He deserves the best.”
John agreed silently, but he couldn’t accept such an expensive gift. It wouldn’t be right. He turned to Irene to argue, but she shook her head. As suborn as her father, apparently.
“What did you say your name was?” Mr Adler asked John finally, looking amused.
“Er…I don’t think I did,” John said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s John. John Watson.”
“Watson?” Recognition flared in Mr Alder’s eyes. He turned to Irene, his amusement even more apparent now. “Not the John Watson? The one Sherlock’s always-”
“Okay, bye dad!” Irene interrupted, swooping in to give Mr Adler a kiss on the cheek. She grabbed the box of gold bees as she retreated, snapping the lid closed. “See you later. I’ll let you know how it goes!”
“How did he know my name?” John asked as soon as they were safe in the car, the box of bees sat between them.
“You’re the captain of the local school’s rugby team,” Irene said. “You’d be hard pressed to find someone that didn’t know you.”
When John went to chemistry that afternoon, he noticed Sherlock wearing one of the scarves John bought for him. It looked fantastic with his long Belstaff, the blue giving the dark coat a pop of colour.
The image of Sherlock wearing one of the scarves gave John the extra boost he needed to type his note that afternoon. And, as he left the note and the box in Sherlock’s locker that evening before heading home, he couldn’t help but hum along to the tune.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
Five golden bees
Four blue scarves
Three French rolls
Two pirate ships
and a cartridge in a palm tree.
Two months ago, Harry had dragged John to the ballet. She had never really shown interest in ballet before, but her newest girlfriend absolutely adored it, so Harry wanted to familiarise herself with one of the more famous ballets, Swan Lake .
John, being the wonderful brother he was, tagged along. He expected to hate it, or at least find it boring. So when he found himself engrossed in the performance, he was surprised.
Even more surprising was catching sight of Sherlock Holmes sitting several rows in front of them, equally as engrossed. He never did see John, but John still remembered the look of pure joy on Sherlock’s face.
It was a look he wanted to see all the time.
So for day seven, John gifted Sherlock with a gift voucher to the London Coliseum. It was an odd request to ask for exactly seven shows, but the ladies at the front desk were more than helpful when he explained why.
John had gotten to school extra early to carefully stow the tickets in Sherlock’s locker, the now familiar note taped to the front.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
Seven ballet tickets
Six blocks of rosin
Five golden bees
Four blue scarves
Three French rolls
Two pirate ships
and a cartridge in a palm tree
He closed Sherlock’s locker, walking away quickly. As soon as he turned the corner, John could hear rapid footsteps echoing off the walls. John peeked from behind the wall, his eyes widening when he saw Sherlock there, frantically opening his locker.
“Damn it,” Sherlock growled when he saw the box. “I missed him again!”
John watched as Sherlock grabbed the box, giving a small snort at the note on top. John couldn’t see the expression on his face, but both cheeks lifted as if he were smiling.
Sherlock opened the box, and John could hear the small gasp as he looked at the gift inside. John soaked in the sound before turning and darting off, making sure to be across campus before Sherlock thought to look for his secret admirer.
John made a slow loop around the campus, only returning to the building once other kids started to arrive. He walked in nonchalantly, pretending as if he had just arrived.
He turned the corner, heading to his own locker when a body slammed into him, knocking both parties to the floor.
“Christ, I’m sorry!” John said, rubbing the shoulder that he fell on.
“Would you watch where you’re- oh !” A familiar voice said, and John looked over to see Sherlock on the floor as well, the contents of his rucksack spilling out the top. “I didn’t…that is to say…”
“No, it was my fault.” John insisted, leaning over to help Sherlock with his things. “I should have watched where I was going.”
Sherlock didn’t respond, staring at him as if he had grown a third head or something. John could feel a blush rising up in him, and he thought desperately for something to talk about.
“Ah…you like ballet?” He asked as his hands fell upon the tickets he had bought. “That’s really-”
The tickets were snatched from his hand immediately, and John was surprised to find Sherlock glaring at him suspiciously, holding the tickets close to his chest.
“They were a gift,” He explained. “And there’s nothing wrong with liking the ballet.”
“I didn’t say there was,” John said, blinking at him in confusion. “I mean…I don’t know a lot about it, but I went to Swan Lake a few months back and it was…well, really fantastic.”
Sherlock’s suspicious demeanour fell instantaneously, and it was his turn to blink in confusion. “ You went to a ballet performance?”
“Yeah!” John said enthusiastically, practically glowing. “My sister brought me so she could impress the girl she fancies. I wasn’t sure I’d like it, but it was…well…really good.”
“You actually enjoyed it.” Sherlock said to himself more than anything, surprised by his revelation.
“Hey, aren’t you in ballet with Irene?” John asked, trying to pull Sherlock out of his thoughts once more.
Sherlock nodded; a quick jerk of the head sending his curls bouncing. He watched John closely, as if unsure how John would react to him.
“What’s your favourite ballet?”
Sherlock blinked at John rapidly, John’s question the last thing he had expected. Sherlock’s mouth opened and closed a few times, aborted sentences stuttering out of his mouth as he tried to figure John out.
“Why?” Sherlock finally managed, suspicion creeping up on his face again.
“Just…curious, I guess.” John shrugged. “I don’t know a lot about ballet, but you do.”
“You’re trying to impress someone,” Sherlock said, his eyes darting over John’s body language. John coughed nervously, but Sherlock didn’t seem to notice. “And you think ballet knowledge will be the key to her heart.”
“There isn’t a girl I’m trying to impress,” John snorted, letting the half-truth make his sentence more believable. “I was just being nosy. I’ll leave you alone, if you want.”
He gathered his books, still strewn on the floor from his earlier collision. It was only after he had returned them to his rucksack that Sherlock spoke, his voice soft.
“ Le Sacre du Printemps .”
“What?” John stood upright, throwing the bag over his shoulder.
“My favourite ballet,” Sherlock replied. “It’s Le Sacre du Printemps . By Igor Stravinsky.”
“Why?” John asked, feeling a fond smile spread across his face.
“When the ballet first premiered, people began to riot.” Sherlock smirked at that. “It was so different than what they were used to, that people didn’t know how to handle it. And yet it inspired many early works of the twentieth century.”
“A bit before it’s time, then?” John asked.
“Naturally,” Sherlock grinned at that, the sight taking John’s breath away. He had an infectious smile that lit his entire face.
“I have to go, but I’ll see you in chemistry, yeah?” John said regretfully.
“Yes.” Sherlock looked a bit disappointed. Of course, that could be John projecting too, as he was known to do. “I’ll see you then.”
When John arrived in chemistry later that day, he waved at Sherlock. For the first time ever, Sherlock waved back at him. The corner of his mouth was curled, and John couldn’t help but grin at him as he walked past. Even if nothing came out of his gifts, he still got a smile out of Sherlock, and that was all he wanted, really.
Okay, maybe this project had been a bit foolhardy. Gifts were one thing, but to get nine ballerinas to do a dance from Le Sacre du Printemps right after Sherlock had told John all about it? That was just asking for trouble.
Irene had been ecstatic over the idea, and her enthusiasm made it easier to recruit eight other ballerinas.
“We’ll be incorporating dance moves we learned from our last recital,” Irene told John. “To make it easier. It might not be perfect, as Stravinsky requires a bit less…flowing moves, but the sentiment won’t be lost on Sherlock.”
So that night, John typed up the note, printing it off so that he could give it to Irene in the morning. She would be the one to give it to Sherlock, after all.
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me:
Nine ladies dancing
Eight bags of tea
Seven ballet tickets
Six blocks of rosin
Five golden bees
Four blue scarves
Three French rolls
Two pirate ships
and a cartridge in a palm tree
That afternoon in chemistry, Sherlock was worse than ever. He had waved in a dejected sort of fashion when John passed him, but that was the friendliest he got. He made several rude remarks during the lecture, almost leaving their professor in tears.
“Bad day?” John asked, moving to sit next to Sherlock after the fourth interruption from him. Sherlock stared at him for a few moments, but he didn’t say anything. John wondered momentarily if his bad mood had anything to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten his ninth present yet, then immediately brushed it aside.
“Come on, you can tell me.” John pressed.
“Why?” Sherlock snapped. “Why do you care? You’re just some big shot rugby player with a crowd of friends. Why do you even bother?”
“Because, I like to think we could be friends,” John shrugged, pulling out his phone and sending a quick text to Irene that she get the present over with. “If you’d let me.”
Sherlock snorted at that, his knee jiggling under the table. John fought the urge to place his hand on his thigh to make him stop, clasping his hands in place.
“Right, fine.” John sighed. “Sorry. But could you maybe not reveal to the entire class that his wife is cheating on him. Bit not good, that. Brilliant, but rude.”
Sherlock’s knee stopped bouncing, and he turned to look at John once again. “What did you say?”
“I said that it’s kind of rude to deduce-”
“No, no. The other part.” Sherlock interrupted quickly.
“Er…that it was brilliant?” John asked, watching as an unreadable expression flickered across Sherlock’s face. “It was. Brilliant, that is. Of course it was.”
“That’s not what people normally say.” Sherlock replied.
“And what do people normally say?” John asked.
“Piss off.”
John snorted at that, shaking his head. “Well, I find it a bit charming I suppose, but I suppose I can understand where they’re coming from.”
“Charming?” Sherlock asked.
John was spared having to answer when Irene’s head popped in the room. She grinned at John before turning her head to the professor. “I have to borrow Sherlock for a quick rehearsal. Is it alright if we-”
“Go.” The professor said to Sherlock. “You’ve caused enough trouble today. Go.”
“But we aren’t rehearsing anything,” Sherlock frowned at Irene, but he stood anyway.
“Of course we are, silly. New moves I came up with. Let’s go!” Irene sang. “Wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting!”
Sherlock grabbed his rucksack, not even glancing back at John as he left the room. Just before the door closed, John watched as Irene handed Sherlock a very familiar paper.
There was only ten minutes left of class, but it seemed to take ages. John glanced at the clock every few seconds, hoping that Sherlock was enjoying his gift. As soon as the professor dismissed them, John was on his feet, rushing out of class and towards the empty classroom that Irene had managed to snag for their performance.
The dance had just finished, from what John could see. Sherlock sat in the middle of a ring of nine ballerinas, faced away from the windowed door. The paper was still clutched in his hands, crumpled slightly around the edges.
Judging by the smiles on the ballerinas faces, their hard work was well received by Sherlock. John smiled, and ducked away, not wanting to be discovered just yet.
It was after he had finished getting ready to head home that he overheard Irene and Sherlock talking, their conversation anything but quiet. John snuck closer so he could listen in better.
“So you won’t tell me who he is, at least tell me how he knew what I’d like.” Sherlock was saying.
“That much is obvious, Sherlock.” Irene was looking in a compact mirror, applying lipstick studiously. “I’ve been helping him along.”
“Yes, but how did he know what my favourite ballet was?” Sherlock asked. “Even you didn’t know that!”
Irene hummed noncommittally at that. “Yes, but who have you told about that?”
“Only John Watson,” Sherlock replied. “And he wouldn’t do anything like this, obviously. So someone must have overheard.”
“Obviously?” Irene frowned. “Why obviously ?”
Sherlock shot Irene a scathing look. “Don’t be daft, Irene. John Watson would never be desperate enough to ask someone like me out. Even if he finally admitted to himself that he’s most likely bisexual, he’s got a history of dating only those that society would consider beautiful.”
“And you don’t think you fall under that category?” Irene asked.
“Obviously not.” Sherlock replied. “If he were to date a man, it would think it would be someone like Victor Trevor. Good looking, fairly intelligent. Athletic. Popular.”
“Someone like John, then?” Irene asked softly.
“Victor had darker hair, and John’s eyes are blue.” Sherlock said, as if that made any difference.
Irene sighed, and shook her head as if she were weary from dealing with a couple of idiots. “Right, well I’m not telling you who it is. You’ll find out in a few days.”
John backed away at that point, thinking it would be a bad idea to be caught by Sherlock during such a private conversation. All that mattered is that Sherlock was happy. And if he didn’t want to date John by the end of this, that was fine. It was all fine.
John was a complete moron, and soon everyone in the school would know it. If he hadn’t been so late, maybe he would have been able to stuff all eleven Christmas puddings into Sherlock’s locker. But he had forgotten to set his alarm the night before, and now he was caught red handed.
“You??” Sherlock’s voice made John jump, nearly dropping Christmas pudding #9 on the ground.
“Err…” John struggled to find his words, turning around rapidly. “Me…what?”
“You’re the one who’s been leaving the gifts?” Sherlock demanded, his face stony.
“I…well, yes I have.” John said, fumbling with the Christmas pudding as Sherlock snatched the white paper out of his locker. “And I was going to-”
“On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,” Sherlock spouted off, looking angry, “Eleven Christmas puddings, ten flasks for science, nine ladies dancing, eight bags of tea, seven ballet tickets, six blocks of rosin, five golden bees. Four blue scarves, three French rolls, two pirate ships, and a cartridge in a palm tree.”
John coughed slightly, his face reddening as Sherlock read the poem. People in the halls began to stare, and he ignored them studiously. “Well, when you read it out loud, it sounds completely-”
“Is this some kind of joke to you?” Sherlock interrupted. “Some funny prank?”
“What?” John’s eyes widened in shock. “God, no. It’s not-”
“Because it isn’t very funny.” Sherlock continued. “This prank of yours. What was the purpose, hm? To make fun of me? To laugh as I began to think someone actually liked me?”
“No!” John insisted. “That’s not it at all!”
“To make fun of the fact that I have a crush on the rugby captain? I don’t know who told you, but I-”
“Wait…you have a crush on me?” John grinned brightly at that, and Sherlock’s face went red.
“No!”
“It’s okay if you do,” John chuckled, feeling like he was finally on safer ground. “Because I like you too. Very much, if you’d actually let me speak.”
“Why?” Sherlock said, “Why would you like me ?”
“Because you’re brilliant,” John replied, shrugging. “You’re charming. You like bees, and you like pirates. You dance ballet, and you’re the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”
Sherlock looked around, noticing the small crowd of people that were watching the exchange, various looks of amusement and astonishment on all of their faces.
“I don’t-”
“That’s fine if you don’t believe me,” John said, cutting Sherlock off. “Ask Irene. She’ll tell you the truth.”
John looked at Sherlock’s still open locker, and he gently laid the Christmas pudding in his hands next to the other two. “There are still three more puddings, but I don’t think they’ll fit into your locker. I’ve got one more present for you tomorrow, and then you can tell me what you want. Or don’t. It’s all fine.”
John gave a little wave, walking away from the crowd. It hadn’t been a total disaster, but the whole exchange could have been a hell of a lot better.
One more day , John thought. Just one, then I can go back home and lick my wounds.
John sat in the library on the morning of day twelve, pretending to read a book. He had gone with the intention to actually read, but he found that he was so nervous that he couldn’t get past the first few lines or so.
He wasn’t even sure that Sherlock would come looking for him, really. Sure, they had parted ways fine after the whole Christmas pudding incident yesterday, but Sherlock had ignored him all day, arriving to chemistry late and leaving early as to avoid John.
“There were only eleven,” Sherlock’s deep voice made John jump, and he looked up, blinking in surprise.
“You came,” John breathed, not wanting to scare Sherlock away.
“Your poem,” Sherlock said, ignoring John. “On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me: twelve mistletoes.”
“Eleven Christmas puddings.” John sang in response, earning a quirked eyebrow from Sherlock. “What? You’re supposed to finish it.”
“I didn’t realise there were rules.” Sherlock replied, looking amused.
“Oh, tons.” John said. “Ten flasks for science, nine ladies dancing.”
“Eight bags of tea, seven ballet tickets.” Sherlock continued, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile.
“Six blocks of rosin.” John was grinning now.
“Fiiiiiive golden beeeeeees!” They chimed together, bursting out into laughter.
“Oh my god, you two are ridiculous.” Irene interrupted them as she appeared from behind a stack of books, unable to keep the fond smile off her face.
“Four blue scarves, three French rolls, two pirate ships…” John sang in reply.
“Yes, yes. And a cartridge in a palm tree.” Irene finished. “Are you two done now? And can we get to the topic at hand?”
“And what would that be?” John asked, still smiling.
“Are you two going to get together, or what?” Irene asked bluntly. “Because frankly, I’m a little tired of dealing with you two pining for each other.”
“I do not pine.” Sherlock said, looking affronted.
“If you looked up pining in the dictionary, your picture would be next to it.” Irene said. “And Captain, you would be right underneath.”
“Well, I believe I’ve made my crush quite clear.” John said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s up to Sherlock, now.”
“There were only eleven mistletoe, John.” Sherlock repeated, looking at John in expectation. “I counted three times.”
“So, you won’t date me because there’s only eleven mistletoe?” John asked.
“No, that’s not it,” Sherlock ran his hand through his curls in frustration. “It’s not like you to miss anything. You’re incredibly sharp, and you notice the smallest details. There is a reason that there are only eleven mistletoe.”
John grinned, reaching into his rucksack. “Amazingly observant, as ever.”
He pulled out the twelfth mistletoe, holding it over his head with some hesitation. “I saved one, in case you decided to come looking for me. I figured you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t care…but you did.”
“Oh.” Sherlock stared at the mistletoe over John’s head.
“Oh my god, you sap.” Irene beamed. “I’m getting out of here. I’d rather not see you kiss, if it’s all the same to you.”
Neither of them watched Irene leave. They were too focused on the other boy, waiting for the final decision.
“How do you feel about the violin?” Sherlock asked.
“What?” John asked, baffled by the non-sequitur.
“I play the violin when I’m thinking, sometimes I don’t talk for days on end.” Sherlock continued rather rapidly. “Potential boyfriends should know the worst about each other.”
John grinned at that, and Sherlock copied him, his beautiful eyes crinkling in delight. “I think that sounds marvellous to me. Now come over here, because my arm is getting a bit tired.”
Sherlock made his way over to John, sitting on the arm of the armchair. He leaned down, pressing his lips to John’s in a chaste kiss.
Years later, John would find the inflatable palm tree in Sherlock’s closet, the unused ink cartridge still taped to it. He would laugh, surprised that Sherlock kept it for all these years. Sherlock would only smile in response.
“How could I get rid of it? It was the first gift from my true love.”