Special Delivery
The flat was quiet for once, and John indulged in some light reading on the sofa. Sherlock was in his chair, eyes fixed on the door, and every time John glanced up from the pages of his book Sherlock hadn't moved.
Sherlock was on his feet an instant before the doorbell rang. "That'll be your Christmas present, John," he said on his way out. He flung their flat door open wide and ran downstairs before John could say anything else.
He stood, left his book on the sofa, and waited beside the door. If Sherlock didn't want him to see his present that was fine – he'd only have until tomorrow to wait anyway. But he was very curious.
Sherlock was followed into the flat by a woman. John blinked at her stupidly. Her skirt was short and barely covered her legs; her hair was long and perfectly framed her face. She was very pretty indeed. John frowned when he realised she wasn't carrying a package to be delivered.
Many times Sherlock has called John and idiot, but he's perfectly capable of making a few deductions of his own.
"Merry Christmas, John," Sherlock said with a crinkly grin as if he knew that was the custom. John hoped and prayed that the woman would produce something from her so-small-it-was-utterly-pointless handbag, but no such luck.
It was quite a shock, to be frank, and it took John a few moments to find the words. "Sher—" he began to say under his breath, then swallowed and cleared his throat. "Could you excuse us for just one moment?"
"Okay," she said.
John then dragged Sherlock by the arm into the kitchen, closing the kitchen divide as he went in a motion so fluid it had Sherlock trying not to feel proud. John stood in front of him. "Sherlock... is that – a prostitute?"
"Obviously," said Sherlock.
"You can't jus—oh, god," John put his head in his hands. "Is that why we went to that club the other night? And suddenly all the suspects in your 'case' were girls? And you just kept bringing more over to me?"
Sherlock sniffed. "It's not my fault you're so fussy when it comes to female companions."
John took a few deep breaths. "Okay, I need tea," he said after a few moments. "Get rid of her."
"But, John, it's your Christmas gift—"
"Sherlock, we do not hire prostitutes as Christmas presents!" and John struggled not to yell. "When I find the woman of my dreams it'll be by myself and without your help, all right?"
"Fine," Sherlock said and left John to make some strong tea while Sherlock got rid of the bloody prostitute in their living room. When John emerged from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea Sherlock was back in his chair, looking a little sulky. He took the mug John handed to him, and John sat down on the sofa again.
"I... I suppose I appreciate the thought," John said when he couldn't tolerate the silence any longer. And he giggled into his mug. "Next time, though, just get me an ugly jumper."
The End – Merry Christmas!
Author's Note: My third Christmas fic this year – I don't know what's gotten into me. Whatever it is, I like it. :)