Author's Note:
I wrote a bit of Johnlock fluff for the 221b Advent Calendar (over on livejournal). For posting here, I thought I'd try breaking it up into mini-chapters and posting one a day until Christmas. There are five chapters total.
This story was beta'd by the fabulous percygranger.
Happy Holidays, everyone!
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Chapter 1: Mrs. Hudson's Meddling
"Why, exactly, are you hanging poisonous flora in the flat?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the sprig of greenery dangling above him with suspicion.
Mrs. Hudson simply laughed as she stretched up to smooth her thumbnail over the tape. "I just thought you two could use a bit of encouragement."
John snorted from his armchair, looking up from his perusal of the morning paper for interesting murders. He tried to control his face, but the corner of his mouth was twitching up in a grin.
Sherlock glanced at John, frowning, before turning back to Mrs. Hudson.
"Haven't you ever seen mistletoe before, dear?" Mrs. Hudson was teetering precariously on her step stool as she fastened the plant to the ceiling with some tape and a bit of string.
Sherlock waved one hand dismissively. "No one uses it as a murder weapon these days."
John peered curiously at his flatmate. "Wait, you really don't know..." He chuckled before turning back to his paper. "I bet Molly'd be happy to show you how it works."
"Why would Molly...?" Sherlock asked, eyes narrowing. "Wait, is this some sort of romantic drivel?"
John rolled his eyes. "It's not drivel, Sherlock. Some people like to be kissed under the mistletoe."
Mrs. Hudson rubbed her hands together to wipe off imaginary dust, before climbing back down the stepladder. "John, will you be a dear and help me set up the tree?"
Mrs. Hudson was getting into the holiday spirit, putting Christmas decorations everywhere ("No use in keeping these in 221A, no one will see them!"). Whenever Sherlock complained, John would simply kick him in the shin. Because, after all, it made Mrs. Hudson happy, and John had always enjoyed Christmas. It was one of the few times of year that his family managed to get along for more than five minutes, and everyone was distracted from their usual squabbling by presents and roasted marshmallows and pumpkin pie and eggnog. John still had good memories of sitting on the floor with Harry at six in the morning, guessing each other's presents from the size of the boxes, and waiting for their parents to wake up.
So Mrs. Hudson bustled about adding wreaths and bells and tinsel and fairy lights to various surfaces, Sherlock sulked on the sofa, and John helped her set up the plastic pine tree that she'd pulled out of storage.
When they were finally happy with the positioning of the faux tree - covered in tiny glass pipettes from Sherlock's chemistry set, with the skull perched on top where the star should be - Mrs. Hudson walked over to where Sherlock was still lounging on the sofa.
"You get off of that sofa, young man. Christmas is no time for moping." She leaned over and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. "And if you stay there, well, just see what you'll be in danger of."
"Must you end your sentence with a preposition?" Sherlock mumbled, swatting at Mrs. Hudson's shoulder. She gave him another kiss on the forehead and smiled merrily at John. "Well, that's all the decorations for now, boys. I'd best get a head start on my Christmas baking!"
Sherlock just lay on the sofa, brow slightly furrowed and palms pressed together as if in prayer, the tips of his fingers brushing against pouted lips. John gave the tree one last appraising look before turning back to the sofa, and Sherlock sat up quickly, eyes narrowing. John raised an eyebrow before realising that Sherlock was glancing at the mistletoe above the sofa.
"Don't think you can hog the entire sofa just because there's mistletoe. You're not going to scare me off."
"Fine," he said shortly, before jumping up and flouncing off to his room. Typical melodramatic Sherlock. John just sighed, settled onto the sofa, and turned on the telly.
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The next morning, when John came into the kitchen to fix some tea, he noticed a fresh sprig of mistletoe hanging over the cooker. Apparently Mrs. Hudson had been doing more decorating.
John settled down on the sofa with a mug of Earl Grey and a plate of toast with strawberry jam, and flipped on the telly. Sherlock came out of his room and eyed John from the doorframe.
"Care to join me?" John asked, his mouth half-full of toast. Usually when he watched bad crime scene investigation dramas, Sherlock would rip apart the inaccuracies - John would outwardly complain, but he loved every minute of it.
Sherlock glanced up at the mistletoe hanging over John's head, grimaced, and stalked off to his bedroom.
The following day, John had just gotten back from Christmas shopping - buying something for Harry was always such a bother - and as he came up the stairs to 221B, he spotted more mistletoe hanging over the landing.
"Sherlock, was Mrs. Hudson in today?"
Sherlock's reply drifted out from the kitchen. "Yes, she brought over some biscuits. Why?"
John just shook his head and sighed. He really needed to have a talk with her about how he and Sherlock were definitely nota couple. Despite what everyone else kept saying.
"Come on, Sherlock," he said when he entered the kitchen and started to fill the kettle, "stop avoiding me. I thought you enjoyed making fun of the crap telly I watch."
"I'm not avoiding you," Sherlock sniffed, half-heartedly prodding at a Petri dish full of mould.
"What, then? The mistletoe?" John rolled his eyes. "You could, you know, ignore it. Or move it."
Sherlock looked thoughtful, then swirled back out to the sitting room, his bathrobe streaming behind him in a cascade of blue silk.
When John came out of the kitchen, he was vaguely amused to see that the sprig of mistletoe had been transplanted to hang above John's armchair. "Is that your idea of punishment?"
Sherlock tilted his head and shot John a half-smile. "I imagine it'll improve your chances of getting a kiss in the next few weeks."
John rolled his eyes and flopped down on the sofa, holding out a second mug to Sherlock in offering. Sherlock ignored the mug but flopped onto the other end of the sofa with a soft whumpf, managing to sprawl over the entire thing, even going so far as to rest one foot in John's lap. John tried to hide his grin, but Sherlock's eyes were tracking his face, glittering with amusement.
"I should have kept the mistletoe where it was. Must have had a temporary brain aneurysm and forgotten how annoying you can be."
Sherlock frowned. "You're a doctor. You should know that brain aneurysms aren't temporary, nor do they tend to cause amnesia."
John giggled and patted Sherlock's ankle fondly. "You're a genius. You should know it's pointless to argue with me."
Sherlock merely smirked before turning his attention back to the telly.