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A Christmas vacation was just what they needed.
When people think of going on vacation during winter, it’s normally tropical, somewhere with a beach and palm trees and fruity drinks with pineapple in them.
Sherlock and John, however, needed the thrill of a lively city.
So for their first Christmas as a couple, they headed off to New York City. Manhattan. The big apple. Concrete jungle where dreams are made of. The city that never sleeps.
John had been to the city before when he was a teenager, but Sherlock, shockingly, had never been. Sherlock refused to say it, but John knew just how excited he was. Something about big cities just spoke to Sherlock.
Perhaps it was the fact that it was always loud. It probably drowned out all of the noise in his head and allowed him to think about what he chose to think about, rather than his feelings controlling him. He never said it, but John figured that’s why he didn’t like going home for Christmas, out in the countryside. Everything was unbearably quiet there. You could hear the crickets chirping at night, and that was the only sound you’d hear. It was mind-numbingly irritating.
Their flight arrived late, nearly at midnight – partly by design.
John had wanted Sherlock to be stunned by the city lights as they made their way via taxi to their hotel in the heart of Times Square.
And he was.
The entire car ride, John watched as Sherlock stared out the window, his mouth open and his eyes twinkling along with the lights. London was beautiful, there was no argument. But something about the lights in New York City made you feel like you could do anything, be anything. Like you could be anyone you wanted to be. Something about the lights here seemed different. Just like Sherlock.
Another bonus of arriving at night was the traffic wasn’t too terrible. If it had been them paying, the lesser cab fare would have been another bonus.
But they were on Mycroft’s dime – it was his present to Sherlock and John for finally getting their heads out of their arses and declaring their feelings. It was a honeymoon, in a sense, despite the fact that they weren’t married.
“Wow,” Sherlock gasped.
John smiled. He loved making Sherlock happy.
They finally made it to their hotel and quickly rolled their suitcases into the lobby, neither appropriately dressed for the weather.
Seeing as Mycroft sprang for the holiday, they were of course in the most luxurious hotel suite. They were on the forty first floor in the presidential suite. They could see the hustle and bustle of Times Square, and all of the flashing billboards and lights. They could see skyscrapers and the most beautiful buildings everywhere they looked. This was just something new to add to the list of things that took John’s breath away – the list mostly being occupied by Sherlock and his several quirks.
Feeling festive, John managed to pull himself away from the window and called down to room service, requesting two mugs of warmed eggnog and a bottle of spiced rum.
While he waited for their drinks, he turned on the in-room fireplace. It wasn’t cold, they didn’t need any added warmth, and it was more the vibe that John wanted. Cozy and comforting. He wanted to cuddle with Sherlock on the sofa in front of the fireplace, looking out into the city, and drink rum-spiked eggnog that would warm their bones.
Sherlock was still enchanted by the view when there was a knock on the door. It had surprised Sherlock, not having heard John call down.
John chuckled and shook his head at Sherlock before retrieving the eggnog and rum.
“What’d you get?” Sherlock asked. “It’s past midnight!”
“Eggnog,” John smiled. “And yo-ho, yo-ho, a bottle of rum.”
“Pirates in a presidential suite?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, flirting.
John laughed and playfully shoved Sherlock. “If you play your cards right.”
They giggled until they collapsed onto the sofa, Sherlock sprawling out his limbs across John.
“I have a confession,” Sherlock said shyly.
“Hmm?”
“I’ve never had eggnog.”
John blinked at Sherlock.
“Well, you won’t be able to say that soon enough.”
John always tried to never make Sherlock feel like a misfit. It was a touchy subject and John would never judge Sherlock. He loved all the things that made Sherlock different.
He kissed Sherlock on the cheek and poured a splash of rum into each mug of eggnog. John passed the mug to the curly haired, sleepy eyed love of his life and smiled, holding his own mug out so they could make a toast.
“To us,” John whispered.
“To us.”
Their mugs clinked and John slurped a bit of his drink, observing Sherlock as he took his own first sip. A thin line of eggnog appeared above Sherlock’s upper lip and John’s heart stalled.
It was just like a movie.
“Well?”
“We’re going to drink this every day, yes?”
John chuckled and nodded.
“If that’s what you want,” John replied. “C’mere, you have a little something…” John gestured to Sherlock’s cupid’s bow.
Slowly, tenderly, John leaned forward, his eyes scanning the entirety of Sherlock’s face. He loved every line, every freckle, and every randomly grown hair. John inched forward even more, letting his lips touch Sherlock’s. He gently sucked on Sherlock’s upper lip, tasting the sweetness of the eggnog and the spiciness of the rum. It was a slow, sensual kiss that only lasted for a few seconds.
“Mmm,” John exhaled.
Sherlock blushed furiously, even the tips of his ears turning red.
“I think I’m going to really like this eggnog.”
“Oh, you little minx!”
They spent the next hour sipping silently on their spiked eggnog, kissing each other in between.
And John wondered if they’d leave their room at all during the next week.