Sherlock was bored. That's because everything was boring. That's the problem with the world: It was boring, boring, boring. Snowshoes: boring. Snow: boring. Being cold and wet: boring. Walking back to a lodge: boring.
He had no idea why he even took this case. It hadn't even been that promising in the first place. He'd only agreed to take a look because of…
"Sherlock, I can see the storm cloud above your head." John joked, shivering slightly. It was interesting when John shivered. He seemed to collapse in on himself with every shake. Truly fascinating. Sherlock frowned at him. How odd it was to find another man's shiver so captivating. He should do something about that. "Come now, it's not all bad. You still solved the case!" John said, trying to ignite some enthusiasm in Sherlock. Sherlock looked away, wrinkling his nose in disgust. That case had been boring. The only notable fact was the icicle that had been used to stab the man's heart. Still, boring.
"John, I'm bored." Sherlock groaned, crossing his arms in an attempt to protect his body heat. John laughed happily. What a lovely laugh. Interesting to call it lovely. Must be because the laugh was not technically directed at him. It's not mocking or taunting. It was simply a bubble of joy that John was inviting Sherlock to share in as they walked side by side with their shoulders brushing. "How far away is it?" Sherlock complained after stumbling again over his idiotic snowshoes. Snow shoes really were very boring.
"We're almost there." John informed him placatingly, smiling at him softly. Sherlock would never admit it aloud but he really was very tired. This was very aggravating. They'd had to leave the car back at the police station because the snow was too dangerous to drive on. This left them wandering along the road like ridiculous idiots, trying to keep warm and keep moving at the same time.
"John, I'm never complaining about London's weather again. In fact, I love it. Let's never leave England again." Sherlock ranted, digging his gloved fingers further into his thick, woolen pockets.
"Ha, okay, sure, Sherlock." John snorted, shaking his head. He seemed in an awfully good mood for a man stuck walking up a snow infested hill.
"What's going on?" Sherlock asked suspiciously, looking John up and down.
"Nothing." John assured him. Sherlock stared at him. "Nothing!" John laughed, snatching his eyes away from Sherlock's scrutiny.
"John." Sherlock warned.
"Fine." John sighed in mock exasperation, shaking his head a little as he fought to keep a smile from his face. "Do you know what day it is?" He asked Sherlock, serious but for the twinkle in his eye.
"That's a strange question." Sherlock commented. John simply shrugged in response, beckoning Sherlock to continue. "Well, we arrived on Monday night, so today must be… Wednesday?" Sherlock ended on a question, unable to distinguish between most of the days when he was caught up in the rush of a case. Even a mediocre one like this.
"That's correct, but that wasn't what I was asking. What's the date today?" John asked, still trundling along.
"Should've been more specific." Sherlock muttered grumpily. "Well Barry King was killed on the twenty-first and we flew up on Monday which would make today… Oh." Sherlock glanced at John nervously. This certainly wasn't good. "Christmas Eve." Sherlock looked down to watch his snow shoes plod through the snow. "I'm sorry. I forgot."
"It's okay, Sherlock! It's not like it's my birthday!" John joked, nudging Sherlock with his shoulder. The touched warmed him a little. John seemed to be very good at warming Sherlock up.
"Okay, then." Sherlock sighed with relief. "John, when's your birthday?"
"Sherlock." John pushed Sherlock, laughing a little as Sherlock stumbled and almost fell. "Here." He held out his hand and Sherlock took it gratefully, using it to keep himself stable for a moment before he began to walk again. Sherlock looked over at John and the silly smile that he wore.
"I would say that it's surprising to see a grown man so delighted with the notion of Christmas but, in fact, I expect no less of you." Sherlock commented
"Oh, really?" John grinned, looking up at him with that same look in his eyes. Sherlock never wanted to forget that look, not in a million years.
"Yep." Sherlock smiled smugly. Sherlock examined their surroundings, thinking for a moment. "John.
"Yes?" John asked.
"I'm afraid I've left your present back at Baker Street." Sherlock apologised.
"Oh, that's okay, Sherlock. It'll give me something to look forward to. In any case, we can always share my gift." John shrugged nonchalantly.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"Nope. Not telling." John shook his head assertively.
"John, you really can be very juvenile." Sherlock reprimanded mockingly.
"Coming from you." John joked back cheekily..
"You're not doing yourself any favours." Sherlock stated. John merely grinned at him before turning his head to examine the road ahead.
"Look, we're almost there." John informed him, pointing his finger toward the distant outline of the lodge. Sherlock nodded, working harder to move through the snow as they neared the building. A sigh of relief brushed past Sherlock's lips as they finally opened the door, warmth immediately rushing through their bodies as they shut the door and walked up to the counter.
"Ah! Hallo, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson! You back already, yes?" An excited voice jabbered from across the counter.
"Hello, Gunther." John greeted, still smiling even though Sherlock could see the exhaustion wracking his body. Gunther was very enthusiastic. Sherlock hadn't informed John but he had a suspicion that the man assumed the two of them were a couple. They weren't of course, but the man needn't know that. It was hardly his business. Either way, it made the man very happy to see Sherlock and John together and Sherlock was happy to oblige him.
"Yes, hello, Gunther. I was wondering when the next flight back to England leaves." Sherlock inquired.
"Oh, I am sorry sir, but I am afraid no plane will fly tonight. It is very bad snow storm coming soon. But do not worry. Should be over by Friedag at latest." Gunther informed them, English a little stilted but very good in the face of things.
"Friedag?" John asked.
"Friedag? Oh, sorry, Friday. Friday at the latest." Gunther clarified. Sherlock sighed. He really didn't want to be here longer than he had to.
"Well, thanks anyway Gunther." John turned with a sigh and Sherlock followed him past the lounge and dining area to the elevator doors. They waited a moment for the doors to open before they stepped through. Sherlock's finger jabbed the button to the third floor before he stood still in the center of the box. He wrinkled his nose. Elevators really were much too small.
A loud sigh and the feeling of weight against his front caused Sherlock to look down. "John? What are you doing?" Sherlock asked curiously with just a hint of annoyance.
"It's nice to come back to a lodge after a long day and have something tall and warm to lean against." John stated, shuffling closer to Sherlock as he did so. Sherlock scrutinized the top of John's head for a moment before sighing.
"Fine." He could practically hear John facial muscles move as he smiled. "Shut up." Sherlock reprimanded.
"I wasn't saying anything!" John exclaimed exasperatedly, still smiling.
"Oh, but you were thinking it." Sherlock informed him, pushing past John's small form and out of the elevator.
"I wasn't thinking anything. And if I was, I doubt you would have any ability to guess." John stated, folding his arms in self-assurance as he followed behind Sherlock.
"I know you think you can have your way when it comes to me, but I assure you, you can't." Sherlock grumbled.
"Oh, yep?" John asked sarcastically, grinning from ear to ear.
"Yes." Sherlock growled, hissing the S.
"Of course." John nodded his head in mock seriousness before pressing his keycard into the slot. "Hey, Sherlock?" He asked.
"Yes?" Sherlock inquired annoyedly.
"Do you mind if we swap beds so tonight you're by the window? I was too cold last night."
"Fine, I have no preference." Sherlock said, removing his damp coat and hanging it on the back of a chair. He looked up and caught John's smile in the mirror, observing him as he moved his things from his bed to the other. Drats. John had caught him out. He should've been more careful. Oh, well. Sherlock will let him have tonight.
"What would you like for dinner?" John asked absentmindedly as he sat back on his bed and pulled up a foot to take his shoes off.
"Your choice, no fuss." Sherlock said, untying his own shoes. He really was very tired. "Would you mind if I shower first?"
"Go ahead and I'll order." John smile assuredly, turning to the small phone and menu on the shared nightstand.
"Alright." Sherlock yawned tiredly, heading for the small bathroom. He undressed and turned the shower on, stepping in and immediately feeling his shoulders go limp in relief as the heat sunk into his body. The pressure really was wonderful here.
"Sherlock! Food's here!" Came a distant call through the walls. Sherlock grunted in response, not really caring if John heard him or not. With a sigh, he turned off the shower, grabbing a towel to dry himself with before wrapping it around his waist. He stepped through the door, heading for his suitcase in search of pyjama bottoms.
"Hey, the food's on th… the…" Sherlock swung his head around, looking at John questioningly. "Sorry," John cleared his throat. "Lost my words." Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds more before shrugging and continuing his search. "It's, um, just here. By the way. The food." John stopped and started and Sherlock turned his head to capture John's hesitant gesture to the small array of food lying on the floor between the two beds.
"Thanks." Sherlock smiled softly, grabbing the pajamas he'd finally located and pulling them on under the towel swiftly. There was a soft sigh from behind him and he turned around to see John with his head leaning against his hand. "Do you want a shower?" Sherlock asked. "I think I'll go to bed early tonight."
"Nah, I'll wait a bit, thanks." John answered.
"John, are…" Sherlock cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"
"Sure! Sure, I'm fine. Just bit tired is all." John shrugged. Sherlock nodded in agreement. "C'mere." John gestured sleepily and Sherlock sat down across from him, hesitating for a moment before allowing their legs to tangle comfortably together. Wow. A risk. Wasn't that exciting? Just a small movement with such a jump of endorphins. This truly was mesmerizing.
"I got us the lasagna." John stated, pulling the two plates closer and setting one on his knees. "I know Angelou's is the best but I thought we could both judge this one together." John smiled. Sherlock smiled back. John really was brilliant. Sherlock set his own plate on his knees before taking a small bite. It was quite good.
"Not a patch on Angelou's" Sherlock commented with a wink.
"Oh no, of course not. Nothing can compare with the richness of his food." John lamented with a twinkle in his eye.
"Or his vast array of herbs and spices."
"Or how he cooks the pasta just right."
"Or how it smells."
"Or the bright red colour."
"Or the slow roasted tomatoes."
"It's Magnifico!" They chanted together, bursting into laughter. They had both heard Angelou boast about his lasagna enough times to quote the script word for word. Sherlock couldn't blame the man for taking pride in the work he did. Especially when the work really was very delicious.
"So," John began, taking another bite of his food. "How'd you know it wasn't the brother?" Sherlock contemplated the question for a moment.
"His confession was too sincere. He was too apologetic. Like he understood the wrongness of the crime. He is a religious man after all. But that wasn't enough to keep him from lying when he found out his wife did it. I suppose I would have acted this same if you had done that. That was the real clue." Sherlock answered thoughtfully, running his index finger across his bottom lip as he pondered the situations.
"Yes, I'd probably do the same for you." John agreed. Sherlock looked up to see John staring at him, his tongue tracing his lip in an almost mirror to Sherlock's finger. Sherlock smiled. They were so close. Sherlock found himself holding his breath as John shuffled even closer. Pounding heart and thoughts buzzing, he leaned in, slowly.
The sound of crackling and buzzing electricity interrupted the moment, causing both Sherlock and John to look up at the now dark light bulb.
"Huh." John cocked his head to the side. "Weird." Sherlock stood up, offering John a hand to pull him up too before heading for the door.
"Very, very sorry sir. I try sort things out by tomorrow. Very promise sir, very promise sir." Gunther turned with visible exasperation and annoyance, making his way down the hall. "Ah! Hallo, Mr. Holmes!" Gunther exclaimed after noticing him, tone changing to excitement in less than a second. "And Dr. Watson!" Sherlock turned his head slightly to see John peering over his shoulder.
"What's going on, Gunther?" John asked, his breath tingling the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck as it whispered past them.
"I very sorry but the power is gone. Fuse box is faulty this time in year. Can only wait for electrician I afraid. With storm, not sure how long will take. Anything else I help you with?" He looked at John and Sherlock curiously.
"No. Everything is satisfactory." Sherlock informed him.
"Okay, then! Bye bye!" Gunther waved over his shoulder as he continued down the hall once more. Sherlock and John both stepped back into the room, looking around at it for a moment.
"Damn." John mumbled.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"If the electricity's out, then the water's bound to be cold. This isn't exactly cold shower weather." John rested his hands on his hips.
"Yep." Sherlock mumbled tiredly. His head was beginning to fog up and everything felt fuzzy. He expected he'd crash soon by the rate he was going.
"You good?' John asked concernedly. Sherlock nodded, yawning a bit as he did so. John nodded. "Tell you what. We'll order dessert, then just go straight to bed. Sound good?"
Sherlock nodded. "Great." He answered around another yawn.
"Good." John nodded. "How about something with chocolate? We are in Switzerland after all." Sherlock nodded again. "Great." John stood there staring at Sherlock for a moment before turning to place the order.
Sherlock sighed, walking over to his bed and sinking into it immediately. At home, he'd probably have gone to bed as soon as he'd got back from the case. He'd have pulled back the Egyptian cotton sheets and just laid there, letting the world pass him by. It was one of the small things he allowed himself after a case, especially one that required long hours up at night and very little sleep time.
This bed was very different to the one he had at home. This bed was narrower and had coarser sheets that scratched against his skin. Still, it was clean and dry and would soon warm to his touch. Perhaps he could allow his eyes to slip closed, just for a moment, before he had to get up again.
"Sherlock? Sherlock?" Came a soft, sing-song voice. It gently pierced through the haze of cloud and cotton candy, entering Sherlock's awareness where he finally allowed his eyes to blink open.
"John?" Sherlock mumbled, looking up at him with hazy eyes. He faintly noticed a few candles scattered about the room, one on the night-stand, one on the dresser, one by the chair. They lit the room with a warm glow, the flickering light casting shadows around every corner.
"Dessert's here. It's the Swiss equivalent of chocolate lava cake." John cocked his head at Sherlock, a small smile playing on his lips. "You really are tired, aren't you?" Sherlock shrugged, not in the mood to deny anything. "C'mon. Let's eat." Sherlock nodded, sitting up on the bed. "Here." John handed Sherlock a shallow bowl with his portion of the cake.
"Thanks." Sherlock took it gratefully, not waiting before he scooped some into his mouth. It was warm and smooth as it went down Sherlock's throat. He sighed happily.
"Good?" John asked with a smirk which he quickly hid behind his own spoonful of cake.
Sherlock nodded in response before spooning another round of chocolate into his mouth.
"Um, I have a bit of bad news." John said after a few moments. Sherlock looked at him questioningly. "Gunther says that with the power out, the heating is out too and since we don't have a fireplace in our room… Well, it's going to get a bit cold is all."
"Okay." Sherlock frowned.
"I can ask if we can switch rooms if you'd like." John offered. "I'm sure there's a spare one with a fireplace."
"No, it's fine. I'm sure we'll cope for one night." Sherlock answered.
"Alright." John nodded. "So, what's the plan for tomorrow?"
"Well, assuming the storm has passed by then, we'll find a decent flight and try get home for Christmas dinner. Otherwise we'll just have to wait it out, I'm afraid."
"Right." John nodded, spooning the last portion of his pudding into his mouth. "Well, I think it's about time we headed to bed." He announced, rising from his seat on the bed. "Care to join me?" Sherlock brain suddenly focused, his head whipping up to look at John properly.
He stared him for a few seconds before asking in a hoarse voice, "Join you where?"
"In bed of course." John answered. Sherlock gulped loudly.
"What?" His mind was racing with images.
"Oh, come on Sherlock, we both know you're tired. I'm gonna get changed in the bathroom, you can brush your teeth once I'm done." John offered.
"Fine." He agreed faintly.
"You still okay with the window bed?" John asked.
"Yep."
"Okay then." John left the room, picking up his pyjama bottoms first before heading through the door. Sherlock picked himself up, his mind still swirling around about the little bump of confusion. John asking Sherlock to go to bed with him. Ha! What an insane idea. Entirely out of character, he could even say.
"Right, you can brush your teeth now." John said, walking back into the room. He was wearing a thin, tight T-shirt that emphasized his muscles in a very nice way. Sherlock found himself staring far longer than he should.
"Thanks." Sherlock replied, switching back on as he went into the bathroom. He quickly brushed his teeth, squinting as he searched for his toothbrush in the darkness. When he walked back into the room, he noticed John had blown out all but one candle whose flame still flickered softly.
"Can you see well enough?" John asked gently from where he was sitting up in bed. Sherlock nodded, making his way across the room before he finally settled down into bed. He heard a huff of breath and the candle blew, throwing the two of them into darkness. He allowed his eyes to close, ready to sleep himself away when John's voice broke the peace.
"Sherlock. Sherlock, I have something, I-"
"Yes, John." Sherlock asked, sleepiness already slowing his words, the sharpness taken away.
"You know what? It doesn't matter. See you in the morning."
Sherlock frowned, allowing himself to sit up and scan the other bed, hoping to find some clue as to what John was going on about. His eyes hadn't fully adjusted to the dark however and he could barely make out his own hand in front of him, let alone John a couple metres away. Sighing, he slid back down and allowed his body to relax once more. And finally, finally, sleep overtook him and he was peaceful.
Sherlock awoke to his whole body quaking. Sometime during the night, the temperature had dropped even lower and now Sherlock was curled into a shivering ball, trying desperately to keep warm. He pulled the covers even tighter around himself. His toes curled up, his hands fisted. Sherlock tried to keep his teeth from chattering, not wanting to make enough noise to awaken John.
"Sherlock?" Damn. "Sherlock are you cold?"
"No." Sherlock hoped his tone would get John to leave it, although the small quakes in his voice probably didn't help.
"I can hear you shivering." Sherlock glared at the wall. Stupid John with his stupid ability to read Sherlock like a book. He heard John sigh and the covers of the bed behind him shift. Sherlock's ears pricked up as he tried to work out what was going on behind him.
That mystery was quickly solved when Sherlock felt the weight of the mattress shift below him as John climbed into bed behind him.
"John? What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, turning around to face John.
"What I'm doing is keeping you warm because you, Sherlock Holmes, are cold to the bone and after all the effort I've gone through trying to keep you alive, I will not have you dying of hypothermia under my watch." He pulled his arms firmly around Sherlock.
"I'm hardly going to die." Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I dunno. With your luck it'd be just like you to go and die in some random hotel room bed on a chilly night." John grinned.
"Are you saying that I'm a bad omen?" Sherlock feigned offence.
"I can assure you that none of this insanity happened before I met you." John told him firmly.
"You were an army doctor in Afghanistan before you met me."
"And I was still probably safer."
"Oh, but you love it." Sherlock smiled, nudging John teasingly.
"You're ridiculous." John giggled.
"Maybe. Doesn't change anything. Maybe you like ridiculous." Sherlock teased.
"Maybe I do." John replied solemnly.
"Mind you, stuck in a hotel during a snowstorm is alright when it's with you." Sherlock said musingly.
"Really?" John breathed.
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." Sherlock assured him.
"Sherlock, I…"
"I feel like most things seem much less insufferable when you're there next to me. Strange. A scientific anomaly if you think about it." Sherlock carried on.
"Sherlock…"
"It's like the rest of the world makes sense carrying on in the mediocre way it should, abiding by the laws of physics and time and all the rest of it. But then there's you. An impossible entity. Something I can't quite believe although you're right in front of my eyes." Sherlock finished, gazing into John's eyes.
"Sherlock." John placed a hand over sherlock's heart, looking at him seriously. Sherlock could feel the warmth of John's hand seep through his threadbare shirt, radiating across his skin. "You are the most amazing, remarkable, absolutely mad person I've ever met." John pressed his lips briefly against Sherlock's and Sherlock's heart leaped. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."
"And now?" Sherlock asked. His heart was beating wildly and he could barely concentrate. "Now what do I do?"
"And now, you kiss me." John told him cheekily, moving closer.
Sherlock peered at him shyly from beneath his eyelashes, then placed a small peck on John's lips. John giggled and gave him a peck back, brushing his warm fingers against Sherlock's cheek. His gaze sent Sherlock's head askew, his cheeks flaming with heat as he stared into John's eyes.
"You are beautiful. My beautiful, beautiful man." John kissed him again, longer this time, pressing his body against Sherlock's with a strength that drove Sherlock wild.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Damn." John swore, pulling away to look at the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Mr. Holmes? Mr. Watson?" A quiet voice called through the door. John got up out of the bed and walked to the door and opened to find Gunther standing there with a happy smile.
"Uh, yes. Mr Watson." Gunther cleared his throat. "I am happy to report that the electricity has been restored and so is the heating." Gunther smiled widely. "I hope you find this very pleasing sir."
"Don't doubt it, Gunther. Have a good night." Sherlock watched as Gunther nodded and walked away, John closing the door behind him. He stopped by the heaters, making sure they were on full before making his way back to Sherlock and standing in the tiny aisle between the two beds.
"I don't suppose you-" Sherlock's voice cracked. "-You'd like to stay?" He fiddled with the sheet, looking up at John nervously.
"Don't be an idiot." he said with a smile, walking towards the bed. "C'mon, budge over."
"Okay." Sherlock shuffled over, making room. John crawled in, pulling the covers up tightly and slipping an arm around Sherlock's waist. Sherlock looked down at it for a moment before smiling softly, turning over and going to sleep.
Sherlock awoke to the sound of clinking utensils and ceramic plates.
"What are you doing?" He asked blearily, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.
"Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to wake you. I just figured that if we're stuck here and it's Christmas, then we might as well spend it right. So…" He held out his arms, gesturing to the large spread of food around them. "I got one of everything." John announced proudly, his smile so large and endearing that all thoughts of the costs were immediately swept away.
"Okay. Christmas breakfast feast it is." He agreed with a smile. "Let me just have a shower first." He got up and walked to the bathroom, showering as quickly as he could before rejoining John. He was looking over the food, deciding what to eat first supposedly, his look of concentration quite amusing. Sherlock sat down on the floor beside him, smiling softly. He wasn't quite sure where they stood since last night. It was so surreal, it could have easily been a dream. But John seemed determined to prove that thought wrong when he returned Sherlock's smile and leaned in to place a gentle kiss on Sherlock's lips.
"I can't believe I can just.. Well, do that." John breathed in awe.
"Believe me, you're not the only one." Sherlock joked and John's smile grew larger.
"C'mon, we should eat. Cold eggs on toast doesn't exactly sound appealing." John said, rubbing his hands together as he eyed the feast.
"Oh, but jam on toast is fine at whatever temperature." Sherlock teased, having witnessed John Watson eat cold jam on toast many a time.
"Of course." John agreed, ignoring the sarcasm. "Okay! Let's dig in!"
In the end, the eggs did go cold but it didn't really matter with the size of the feast that lay before them.
"Ohhh. I have never felt this full in my life." Sherlock groaned, holding his stomach out of fear that his breakfast may make a reappearance.
John chuckled. "Now it really feels like Christmas." He suddenly looked very nervous. " Speaking of which, I have… Something of a surprise for you."He said with trepidation. Sherlock suddenly noticed the hand behind John's back, fiddling with something that made a crinkling sound. Oh. "Look, I know what you're gonna say so why don't you just open it and skip that bit." He hurriedly passed Sherlock a medium sized package, carefully wrapped in red and gold wrapping paper which Sherlock pulled away slowly.
"It's… It's a blanket." Sherlock stated, looking down at the carefully knitted blanket in his lap.
"Yeah, I figured that big bed of your's needed so sign of love. It's christmassy, see?" John pointed to the tiny reindeer embroidered into the wool.
"It's a blanket." Sherlock said again, looking up at John who chose to avert his eyes. "Why the Hell didn't you give me this last night?"
"Well… I just wanted to protect the sanctity of Christmas day." John shrugged while Sherlock laughed, not truly mad at him. "Besides, if I had, things wouldn't have gone so well between us." John pointed out.
"True." Sherlock mused. "I'm very glad it did." He said, turning and kissing John thoroughly.
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock." John announced when they finally broke away.
"Merry Christmas, John." And for the first time in a while, it was.
The end.