Author's Note:
I'm writing a Christmas and New Year's story in real time for Sherlock and John. They're going on holiday to the city I call home—and rest assured, there will be high crime and international terrorism, baroque opera and stolen kisses, bespoke suits and gingerbread, mile-high Christmas trees, and all sorts of other holiday goodness.
Pre-slash for now, with eventual slashy themes. Separate from my prior AU in "Misdiagnosis" and "Diagnosis". Rated M for future chapters.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
"But it's Man City versus Arsenal today," John complained. "Just what is so important that I have to miss this game to tag along after you?"
"You won't be just tagging along," Sherlock said. "But this is your last chance. Pack a week's worth of clothes and be ready in an hour if you want to come."
"Right-o," John said, standing up from the couch and looking forlornly at the telly. Then he paused, thinking. "Sherlock!" he said loudly. His flatmate poked his head out from behind the kitchen door, where he was intently examining the contents of a pair of beakers.
"Hmm?"
"But if we're gone a week? That will put us there at Christmas!"
"Exactly," Sherlock said. His gray eyes stared pointedly at John's. "Is that a problem? I'd assumed that, given how things ended the last time you spent time with Harry…or were you planning on calling her up and wishing her a happy Christmas? Perhaps bring her a nice bottle of single malt as a gift? Come, John," Sherlock cajoled, watching his friend's jaw drop, "we all know that you and Harry aren't going to make up in time for Christmas. And an alcoholic isn't great company at the best of times, much less during the holidays….all that rum punch, all that eggnog! You'll be miserable if you stay here in London with her."
"And just why do you care so much?" John asked.
"John," Sherlock said, with a voice of patronising patience. "Is it so unusual for me to suggest a holiday?"
"Yes," John said. "First time I've heard it coming from you, Mister 'I-don't-eat-and-I-don't sleep.' I didn't think you went in for this kind of thing."
"Well, if you must know, this is a working trip," Sherlock said. "And it just so happens that it came along at a very convenient time."
"At Christmas? What's convenient about that? The crowds will be awful, we won't be able to book tickets—"
"—That's all taken care of, of course."
"—And everyone else will be at home spending time with family."
"Exactly," Sherlock. "So glad you see the logic here."
"We're leaving on a trip just so you don't have to spend time with Mycroft?"
Sherlock went silent. "I suppose that's one way to look at it. But Mycroft knows about this job, he's actually the one who set me up for it. He just didn't imagine that I'd get called away so soon, or at this time of year. It's perfect, don't you see? He's been nagging at me for months to consult for this organisation. And this way he can't complain when we miss Christmas dinner at our dear mother's home."
"Well, this makes much more sense, John said. "I didn't peg you as the type to go in for Christmas. All that good cheer—just doesn't seem like you."
"Bah humbug aside," Sherlock said, "Are you coming or not?"
"Where are we going? You might at least tell me that much. Warm? Cold? Mountains? Desert?"
"Cold," Sherlock said. "Urban. Bring a warm coat. They've had a mild winter so far but it's supposed to get colder over New Year's. And we might be spending quite a bit of time outdoors. Especially that night."
"So I'm not going to find out until we get to—how are we getting there, exactly? Train? Plane? Automobile? Donkey?"
"Aeroplane, John," Sherlock said. "The cab comes in 50 minutes. You better get showered and changed. And don't forget to bring your dress suit." He paused. "On second thought, scratch the suit. We'll get one for you there. My Christmas present to you."
"Any excuse to update my wardrobe, eh?" John walked across the room, resigned to the fact that wherever Sherlock said to go, he would follow. He was the man's consulting doctor, after all, and the great git had the tendency to get himself injured at an alarming rate.
"Not at all, John," Sherlock said. "I just wouldn't want you to be out of place among the ambassadors and the glitterati. And I was hoping to get a trip to the opera out of all this. The Met is putting on a delightful little Baroque mélange for the new year. Plácido is on the bill, and there's a charming new male soprano that I've been dying to hear. You will be a sport, now won't you?"
"Do I have a choice?" John muttered under his breath as he climbed the stairs to his room.
"No," Sherlock called after him. "But I'll do my best to make this trip worth your time…."
A/N: My goal is to post a chapter every day or so until at least the New Year's (and the new series!). This is my gift to myself after a hard semester. The story will be told in "real time," meaning that I'm setting it this very week, in the city that I love, with everything happening here that really is happening. I'd be interested to see how many references you can find to real events and places! Moffat and Gatiss do such a great job setting the stage in London, that I can't resist placing their characters in another great metropolis. I hope it works!