AN : Here be implied Johnlock, be warned.

Sherlock was an observant individual by anyones standards, obviously.

However, he was at a bit of a loss about what his brain was trying to tell him in this particular case.

Suddenly, everyone he saw, on the street, at The Yard, taxi drivers, restaurant visitors, everyone was wearing jumpers.

He knew it was winter and as such, jumpers were considered appropriate attire by certain sections of the public, but everyone was wearing them. He couldn't remember that being the case last winter. There were so many different styles too, his troublesome brain was suddenly forcing him to note. Round-neck, v-neck, polo-neck, Argyle, cable knit, covered in almost exclusively hideous motives, and there seemed to be a trend for terrible jumpers that he could only describe as being vaguely Scandinavian.

Sherlock was aware of a phenomenon whereby women who wished to become pregnant suddenly started noticing pregnant women and babies everywhere. He could not think how this might be related to his brain's sudden obsession with knitwear. He did not feel in any way inclined to join the trend.

Of course John wore jumpers, but John had always worn jumpers. Sherlock had seen evidence of this in photo albums. He did not think this was relevant either.

Then Mycroft sent him a parcel by courier.

Sherlock was curious. Mycroft often sent parcels if he had been spying and had noticed something missing. New violin strings, a narwhal horn, books, ritual knives, and occasionally, if John was on the point of explosion, milk.

Sherlock opened the box and pulled out ... a jumper.

Mycroft also bought most of Sherlock's clothes (Shopping? Dull!), but this was not his size. Not even close. And the colour was not his thing at all, it would make him look like the walking dead. His brother wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Had his brother got a new junior assistant? No, he would have noticed a decline in his brother's mood and an increase in his weight (he hated breaking in new staff). He was being laughed at. Mycroft knew what his traitorous brain was doing to him.

Sherlock screwed up the blue cashmere jumper and threw it in the direction of Mycroft's latest camera.

Then he threw himself onto the sofa and had a good, long, hard sulk.

John discovered the jumper when he was tidying up, after getting back from a dull shift at the clinic.

"Sherlock? Whose is this?" He asked holding up the foreign knitwear and giving it a suspicious glare. Foreign clothing was not something he was used to finding in the flat, he didn't like the idea of where it could have come from.

"Mycroft sent it. It's his idea of a joke."

"Oh." Said John, deciding that there was nothing to worry about in that case. "It's a nice jumper, what's it doing on the floor?"

"I don't like being laughed at. Stupid thing wouldn't even fit me."

"Mind if I have it then?"

Sherlock gave a grunt, which John took to be permission. So he pulled the jumper over his head.

It fit him.

The scales fell from Sherlock's eyes. There was a sudden chorus of "Hallelujah" playing in his head. He felt as if he was seeing his flatmate in a whole new light. A fitted, blue, cashmere light. His mouth was suddenly dry. John was a beautiful, jumper-clad Adonis. How had he never been aware of this before? Obviously some part of his brain had been, and had been busily attempting to communicate this epiphany by giving him many other images to compare with. John, with jumper-hair, in a fitted, blue cashmere jumper, blew them all away.

Without making the decision to move, Sherlock found himself across the room and right in his flatmate's personal space.

"John," he said in a voice pitched low. "You are forbidden to wear that jumper out of this flat."

"Eer, what's all this Sherlock?" Asked John, looking rather confused and taking a step back from his intimately looming flatmate.

"I am going to need you to take that jumper off now John, so that I can do unspeakably dirty things to you." Sherlock replied.

John coughed, went beetroot red (which did not compliment the jumper of sexiness at all) and managed to croak out;

"Umm, alright then."

Sherlock tore the jumper impatiently over John's head (with no regard for his ears) and threw it at the camera again. Just because Mycroft gave him a clue, didn't mean he was going to get a show.

AN Last winter in the UK... Jumpers! Absolutely everywhere. Hideous things too, the likes of which I had not seen since the 90's. Many of them with owl motives. Gah! Some of it was no doubt the result of the Scandinavian bejumpered crime solvers currently on trend on british tv. But what was with the owls?

Anyway, clothes shopping whilst home for the holidays? Fehlanzeige, I wouldn't be caught dead...