Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A.N. For the H. I. A. T. U. S. challenge prompt, "Christmas". Sorry this is so small and silly, I have so many projects ongoing this is all I could do.
Organising the party
"I have no idea why Irene is even alive, but she's not coming to our Christmas party," John grumbled. It was an old argument at this point. They were finally together, after years of heartache, misunderstandings and a good heap of fear of losing each other. But his blogger had lost him (sorry again about that), and as soon as Sherlock came back from his…hiatus, John had told him everything he had thought he was too late to say.
The result had been a brilliant kiss, first of many. Infinite, if the sleuth had his way, even if he knew it was physically impossible, shut up. They hadn't come out to anyone, exactly. There was no need to. They just didn't purposefully hide their relationship, and three quarters of their acquaintances thought that development dated back years ago anyway.
Since it was their first major celebration as a couple, and especially given how awkward their only previous attempt was, John decided they would have another Christmas get together this year. He expected some resistance from his lover. A Grinch attitude, maybe. Instead, Sherlock was enthusiastic about the idea. It seemed as if they were of a single mind about it…until it came to the guests' list.
Once they had agreed on inviting the guests to their only (until now) and unfortunate previous Christmas party, John had suggested including some more people. Once again, the sleuth had not objected.
Angelo had made the list, informed them that he would be bringing some delicious food along, and he wouldn't take a refusal. Oddly, Anderson had too, as long as he swore not to bring anyone from his little fan club along. Especially not any Sheriarty shipper, because John couldn't guarantee he wouldn't murder them. Harry and Mycroft, of course, though the teasing they were in for was almost enough to make them rethink both invitations.
And then, Sherlock had casually mentioned Irene, and John had an inexplicable hissy fit, not waiting to hear more than, "Yes, she's alive, and yes, we've been in contact," before he stopped listening altogether and vetoed her presence. Vehemently. And every time the sleuth tried to mention her and explain why he wanted her at the party, John would glare so furiously he shut up.
Well, that stopped today. He had enough! "I want to show off my gorgeous boyfriend to the very lesbian friend who's listened to me griping and pining about you for years, John," he exclaimed, in just a tone under a yell.
"Uh…yes?" John replied, sounding so confused that obviously he hadn't caught on.
"Good we agree. Irene comes. I assume she'll want to bring her girlfriend of the moment, too," the detective concluded, already writing her a text.
"What? Wait, wasn't she…" the blogger stammered.
"John, she told you. I'm sure," Sherlock huffed. "Seriously, what is your problem?"
"But she flirted…" the doctor insisted, though all his fire had left him.
"Have you never flirted with a friend on purpose to make the person they had a crush on jealous?" the consulting detective replied, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, Vivian Allen, back in high school…oh. Oh God. And there I was counting her texts and still not making a move. I've made a fool of myself, have I?" John said, finally catching on. He looked at the floor, flushing in embarrassment.
"It's fine, love. You're an idiot, but you're my idiot. At least now the guest list is complete. Unless you have more people to add?" the sleuth said, using just a finger to lift his love's eyes back to him.
"Of course! Mike! We have to invite him…and give him a great gift, as well. I don't think I even thanked him, you know," John said, still red-faced. How his brain went from 'Is he going to steal a kiss now' to Stamford, he wasn't entirely sure. Maybe because he'd wanted to be kissed since that first day at Bart's.
"Right. Now, guest list done…what's the next step for the Christmas party of our dreams?" Sherlock nodded.
"We go shopping. For mistletoe, to begin with. Lots of mistletoe," the blogger decided, grinning.
"And we'll have to test it all," his lover declared, a smile of his own like the cat who foretastes the canary.
"Yep!" John agreed.
"For a proper experiment, we'll need a baseline," Sherlock pointed out.
"Far be it from us to be unscientific," the doctor said, before kissing him in earnest.