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John couldn’t believe the turkey was still frozen.
“Damnit!” he cursed, kicking the wall. “I can’t believe this!”
Sherlock came up from behind and wrapped his arms around John, comforting him, trying to hug the frustration away. Sighing, John leaned back into Sherlock, almost melting into the touch.
Most people thought that John was Sherlock’s anchor, but nobody realized how much Sherlock grounded John. He didn’t even want to imagine where he’d be now without Sherlock. They fit together like puzzle pieces.
Sherlock kissed the side of John’s head.
“It’s okay, John.”
“No, it’s not, Sherlock,” he grumbled.
“I don’t know why you were going to all this trouble anyways.”
John spun around in Sherlock’s arms so they were face to face.
“It’s our first Christmas together as partners. I wanted it to be special, you know?” he sighed. “I thought it’d be nice to sit down and have a fancy dinner, like you’re supposed to do at the holidays.”
Sherlock pulled John closer and kissed his forehead.
“I know. But maybe it’s not such a bad thing,” Sherlock shrugged.
“What do you mean?”
“Well – do I strike you as the Christmas type? You don’t strike me as the Christmas type, either.”
“I guess. But wouldn’t it be nice to be normal?”
“I’ve spent my entire life trying to be normal,” Sherlock said. “Until I met you. And then it didn’t seem so important.”
John smiled in spite of his anger and disappointment. John’s stories on his blog were often seen as ‘romantic’, deemed that way by Sherlock. John was willing to bet that none of his readers suspected that Sherlock was the real romantic of the relationship.
“So what now?”
“I think I have an idea,” Sherlock grinned.
“Well, what is it?”
“Never you mind, John.”
Sherlock kissed John on the forehead again and pulled away, digging his mobile out of his trouser pocket. John watched as Sherlock texted away. He wondered what he had up his sleeve.
“Done.”
“What’s done?”
“Go change into your pajamas and I’ll get the rest of the stuff!”
Without even waiting for a response, Sherlock had darted off towards his room. They didn’t share a room quite yet – they had spoken about it and thought it was a little too early in the relationship to officially move into a single room together. That’s not to say there weren’t some nights where John stayed in Sherlock’s room and vice versa, though.
John headed off to his own bedroom and changed into his favourite pair of pajamas. They were beyond comfortable, and his arse looked phenomenal in them. Grinning at the reflection in his mirror, John casually strolled back to the den, trying to act calm, cool, and collected. In reality, his heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. He loved when Sherlock surprised him.
He plopped himself down onto the sofa beside a pile of blankets and waited.
And he kept waiting for another fifteen minutes. The anticipation was slowly starting to wear on him.
When he heard the door open, he assumed it was Sherlock’s bedroom door. It wasn’t. And when he heard someone walking up the stairs to the flat, he started to wish he kept his gun in the living room. John stood up, his heart pounding, his adrenaline coursing through his veins.
By the time he inched closer to the door, it swung open.
“Sherlock!” John gasped. “What the bloody hell, where were you?!”
Sherlock innocently held up the plastic bags full of take-away.
“Did you sneak out so you could surprise me?”
“Maybe,” he said coyly.
John lovingly shook his head and took a bag from Sherlock, hauling it over to the coffee table.
The smell of Chinese food permeated Baker Street.
Sherlock set the other bag down and together, they unpacked all of the food – which could feed a family of six.
“Are those…?”
“Yes! Coconut curry vegetables”
John’s stomach rumbled at the thought. It was one of his favourite dishes from their favourite Chinese place.
“But you hate the smell.”
“It’s Christmas,” Sherlock chuckled. “Okay, sit back and get comfortable!”
John sat on the sofa, a take-away box of ginger beef and rice and chopsticks in his hands. He leaned back and watched Sherlock as he nibbled on a piece of meat.
Sherlock turned the fireplace on, along with the television. He dimmed the lights and grabbed a bottle of wine. Soon, Sherlock dropped onto the sofa beside John and threw a blanket over the both of them. Sherlock clicked a few buttons on the remote, bringing Netflix to the screen.
“So, I thought we could just stay in, eat our weight in take-away and have a superhero movie marathon,” Sherlock smiled.
“Sounds perfect to me,” John whispered. “It sounds much better than what I had planned.”
Sherlock grabbed a box of chow mein and curled up against John. He clicked play and as the opening music began to play through the speakers, John gazed at Sherlock. Feeling eyes on him, Sherlock turned his head and smiled at John. Helpless when Sherlock smiles, John leaned down and kissed him, short and sweetly.
In the future, in lieu of making Christmas dinners, this is what Sherlock and John did. Every year, they got take-away and had movie marathons. The food changed, and the movies were never the same. They always fell asleep together on the sofa, and each morning they woke up, they managed to fall deeper in love.