John flopped down onto the warm, inviting fabric of the sofa, and huffed out a sigh of relief. The last of the guests (i.e Lestrade and Mycroft, who had had a bit to drink and were stumbling a little and seemed slightly more cheery than usual) had left, and it had been a long day. Containing a little too much food and loud guests, if John was honest with himself. But, he had to admit, he had enjoyed himself; he was now just happy now to be in the warm, candlelit living room surrounded by wrapping paper and random presents; most of which he could not remember whether they were his or Sherlock's. He was grateful, though; never before in his life had it seemed that there were so many gift-cladded friends knocking at their door (and then getting drunk and going home).
He pulled himself upright a little and leaned over towards the coffee table, picking up and examining a few of the items that had been placed there, among the forest of wrapping paper and drinks glasses. Some hot chocolate, a new blanket and a DVD. Ah yes, John thought to himself, our presents from Mrs Hudson. He smiled as an idea sprung to mind- he and Sherlock could settle down and watch that film after their long day, yes that would be nice. Ah, and perhaps even indulge in a cup of that hot chocolate each as they did so, also. Yes, that sounded cosy. Especially if they were under that blanket, and-
Wait a moment.
John took a moment to analyse the mental picture currently occupying his mind; him and Sherlock, under a blanket together, while drinking hot chocolate, and watching a rom-com DVD…
Mrs Hudson, I see your game.
But I'm not falling into that trap.
Because, I just know that at some point you will just casually pop in too see us, only to start smiling to yourself in victory as you watch me and Sherlock, snuggled together under a warm blanket, with some cosy hot chocolate, relaxing to a DVD…
Oh, blast Mrs Hudson. John needed this evening of relaxation, and he was pretty sure Sherlock did too.
'Sherlock!' he called, despite his embarrassment of 'people talking' about this situation, he really was too tired to care less.
As expected, he received no reply. John simply sighed and got up to begin preparing the drinks; he conceded that it would be easier to get Sherlock later anyway.
10 minutes later.
Sherlock strode into the living room; only to find that the lights had been dimmed down and all the place appeared to be lit by was the screen of the telly, (which appeared to be showing some kind of film menu), the roaring, warm fireplace and the various candles lit around the room, which were giving off warm and wintery scents of cinnamon and gingerbread.
Then he looked towards the sofa.
For a moment, the great Sherlock Holmes was a little confused.
There was a neatly laid out blanket, and two freshly made cups of hot chocolate.
Was this the work of Mrs Hudson?
Well, it did look quite inviting…and he was fairly tired…so why not?
Sherlock simply strode over to the sofa, got under the blanket (as always, with no humility) and cupped his hands around one of the mugs.
He decided this was an experiment to see what happens next.
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John walked back into the living room; in his warm, new pyjamas and dressing gown. He walked in, expecting just to pass through on his way of searching around in various rooms of the house for Sherlock. He had been wondering how he should ask Sherlock- Should I just say, 'Do you want to watch a movie with me?', or, 'Are you tired, do you want a drink on the sofa?' and there had been various other ideas, but now, it seemed, he wouldn't have to use any of them.
For, nearly passing through to the next room, as he made his way through the living room he simply halted, and took in the sight before him.
'Ah,' he simply said; this was John's response to seeing Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective, curled up in the corner of the sofa, nestling a steaming mug of hot chocolate, beneath their new cosy winter blanket. Though, in spite of all this, Sherlock still had his usual expression of deep concentration plastered across his face, as he stared intently at the flashing colours on the telly (and John was pretty sure he wasn't even watching them; he knew Sherlock better than anyone, and could tell when he was stuck inside his mind and when he was actually responding to reality).
Though, he seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had previously been in, as he turned his eyes to meet John's (which, as always, made the doctor's heart-rate begin to climb higher as he looked lustfully into those pale eyes, sparkling with innocent life yet twinkling with limitless intelligence as candlelight reflected off of them). God, why is he so attractive…John found himself thinking. No, wait, no! Why do I always think these thoughts?! I'm John Watson, and no matter how many doubts I may have, I AM STRAIGHT! Why, why does this man have such an effect on my mind?! John thought to himself- recently his train of thought had begun to always be sent off of its tracks when Sherlock was around, and especially when the other man looked right into his eyes like that. John just discarded all of this and put it down to the fact that he and Sherlock were just very close friends, and Sherlock was a very admirable person. Yes, that was it. Awe. Awe was all this was.
Then why, why do I always want to be with him, and why is he always in my thoughts…
'Ah, John,' Sherlock said, giving John a slight smile. 'You look tired; why don't you come and sit down? After all, I don't think you'd go to the trouble of making two mugs of chocolate just for me' Sherlock continued, who had long since deduced that it was John who had prepared this scenario. It was the way in which the blanket was folded that gave it away (i.e- not folded at all).
John opened his mouth to begin explaining, and start saying things like 'people will talk', but, tonight he just couldn't be bothered. And besides, the idea of relaxing with his best friend, when he was as tired as this, appealed to him.
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Mrs Hudson made her way up the stairs of her building, to take a little look at what John and Sherlock were doing- hopefully they had enjoyed her gifts, and, maybe, just maybe it would've helped the poor dears to finally take a step, no matter how small, to pronouncing their feelings (that she knew they had, she was the sort of women who picked up on these little details) to each other. Well, at least they were hopefully happy together; that was the main thing.
Trying not to make much noise, she carefully opened the door to the men's living room, and, as she looked in, a content smile came to her face. They were both on the sofa together, under a blanket. Sherlock had his back resting against the far arm of the sofa, with his legs stretched out in front of him. John lay down on his lap; head resting on Sherlock's chest, as the other man (probably sub-consciously) ran soothing hands through his hair. John didn't appear to mind at all; in fact he looked like he loved it, as his eyes were lulling shut and his lips parted into a contented sigh, at the pleasurable feel of the detectives fingers running through his hair, as together they watched their Christmas film; surrounded by twinkling lights and the warm, welcoming scents of winter.
Not wanting to disturb the peaceful, relaxed atmosphere, Mrs Hudson excited as silently as she had arrived; happy at the thought that she had succeeded in her match-making mission, and that the two were happily relaxing together- closely together.