Silent Night
When John and Sherlock came back to the small stone cottage – rented for the Christmas holidays and looking so peaceful covered in soft snow – after a good dinner out, John thought that this could be home. Not right now, of course, they were still too much in love with London and 221b in particular to leave any time soon, but perhaps later for retirement, settling down here in Sussex in a lovely cottage just like this. He could write and generally enjoy his life, and Sherlock could do crazy experiments or even start keeping bees (he owned a lot of books about bees and seemed oddly fascinated by them). Retirement was still far away, though.
John looked up at Sherlock, who had entertained him with stories of his early cases over dinner and hadn't even once checked out the other customers (which had seemed to be compulsory for him after his return), and now walked close beside him, returning his gaze with a tiny but content smile. Someone who didn't know Sherlock as well as John wouldn't even recognise that little quirk of his lips as a smile, but John knew better. This wasn't an artificial smile for a case, but a genuine one, and since Sherlock's return John received those smiles increasingly often.
"This was a good idea."
John smiled as well. "Going out for dinner or taking a holiday?"
"The holiday. Although dinner was nice as well."
"You should've told me earlier about that case with the giant mole. It's so perfect for the blog."
They had reached the door and as John opened it he heard Sherlock huff out a laugh.
"No doubt. You'll overdramatise it as you usually do and emphasise the completely irrelevant aspects of the case instead of focussing on the important facts, but if you absolutely must, feel free to entertain your mindless readers."
"Did I imagine your comments there? I think not. So you're obviously one of the 'mindless readers'. And nothing you can say can convince me you don't secretly enjoy reading my 'overdramatised' reports of your brilliance," said John, hanging up his coat. This kind of bickering about his blog entries (or rather about pretty much anything) had become a habit between them and belonged in their life like body parts in the fridge or dinners at Angelo's.
Another laugh from Sherlock. "Well, if you call me despairing over your flowery prose 'enjoying myself'…"
John grinned. "If you were an editor, every author would despair. Lucky for you I know how to take your criticism."
"You ignore it."
"Exactly."
They exchanged a knowing glance and while John busied himself with making tea Sherlock took up his violin and began rosining the bow.
"I'm glad you're enjoying the holiday. You seem to be much more relaxed than in London. Not so… on edge anymore."
Sherlock contemplated this for a moment. "Yes. I had some… difficulties adjusting to it all again after the chase. You have been a good friend, John, despite what I put you through and I… I'm grateful."
He smiled tentatively at John, who returned it with a soft, "I know."
Sherlock nodded and turned back to his violin, emotions successfully braved, so that John was left with his thoughts. Today had been one of the best days of the last year and a half. No comparison to their quite disastrous last Christmas together that had ended with him being left again by yet another girlfriend and Sherlock in the morgue identifying the body of one of the few people who had ever fascinated him. He didn't want to think about the Christmas that had followed.
And now this was their first Christmas together since Sherlock, well, had come back from the dead. It had been difficult at first when Sherlock had suddenly showed up last September, but after two weeks of John stubbornly ignoring him and Sherlock in return stubbornly ignoring being ignored and sending him texts anyway, he had agreed to actually talk to his best friend. Because no matter how angry or hurt John had been, Sherlock would always be his best friend. In the end he'd just been stupidly happy to have his nutter back. He hadn't regretted moving back to Baker Street, and now, after all they had been through together, he felt they'd grown so much closer than before.
John looked over to Sherlock who had moved to the window, violin raised, looking out at the little back garden that was covered in snow. The bow started moving gently over the strings and John instantly recognised the song: 'Silent Night'. How fitting and how beautiful. God, John loved to hear Sherlock play; he always felt as if Sherlock was pouring his very soul into the music. Now, on Christmas Eve, after a good dinner and even better conversation, in a cosy cottage and with the peaceful wintry scenery outside, it was so perfect it almost hurt. He watched Sherlock's graceful playing while he waited for the tea to brew.
Sherlock was fully immersed in his playing, slowly swaying along, and the music flowed through the whole room. John felt as though time stood still in this very moment, and why wouldn't it? If anyone could manage it, it surely would be Sherlock. John lost himself in Sherlock's playing, enjoying every second of it. They both deserved the peace and quiet they'd found here and it seemed that his friend finally let all the tension go – as the song neared its end his playing became gradually softer and more serene.
After the last drawn out perfect note John said into the ensuing silence, "Beautiful."
"Thank you," Sherlock answered, and while he put his violin back in its case John poured the tea and took the two cups over into the small living room. Sherlock took the offered cup with a nod and they retired to the sofa to drink their tea in comfortable silence. For the first time since Sherlock's return John consciously noticed how all kinds of little touches had increased between them – sitting there they were touching from shoulders to knees. He recognised this for what it was: their way of reassurance, of telling the other, "It's okay, I'm still here."
It was so good to finally be able to relax, John thought, and when he caught Sherlock looking at him again with that genuine little smile on his face, he decided to just trust his instinct, and leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's temple. When he drew back Sherlock looked a bit confused, but mostly pleasantly surprised, his eyes gleaming.
John revelled in the moment and said quietly, "You know you're stuck with me, right?"
Sherlock nodded. "Yes."
"Good. Just wanted to be clear. Don't want there to be any room for misunderstandings, right?" He grinned. "And so you know, if you ever pull shit like that again, I'll hunt you down and kick your sorry ass."
The look in Sherlock's eyes was intense when he deadpanned, "I'm counting on it."
Laughing, John put an arm around him to draw him closer. For the first time since his return, Sherlock's smile was completely relaxed and so very bright. As they settled against each other drinking their tea John thought that yes, his life had never been better.
AN: A big Thank You to my lovely betas eanor and shyaway, who were a big help. This was my first fanfic that I wrote with the intention of publishing it somewhere - it was written for the Sherlock xmas-xchange on Livejournal. I hope my exchange partner liked it.