An early Christmas gift for all my fellow Johnlock-lovers. I'll hope you'll enjoy this little fluffy thing. Merry Christmas!
The snow had fallen heavily all night, leaving London embedded in a thick layer of soft cotton on Christmas morning. Lights twinkled from every corner and the smell of Christmas food was mesmerizing, spreading like mist across the streets. If one was to walk on a certain street at this very moment, one would hear the lovely tones from a violin playing "Silent Night", as beautiful as ever.
The violin in question were located at Baker Street, where the atmosphere was warm and cheerful. The food had been eaten and taken away. Candles were lit everywhere, casting their flickering lights upon the yellow smiley-face that decorates the wall of 221B. Its inhabitants were currently sitting in the living room, together with their lovely landlady and the Detective Inspector.
Molly had stopped by earlier together with Tom, on the way to her parents. She had politely declined the mulled wine Mrs. Hudson had offered, causing Sherlock to congratulate them both on their soon-to-be addition to their small family. Molly had tried to deny it, Sherlock had insisted and it had all turned into rather an Olympics in hugging and ´Best wishes', Mrs. Hudson immediately promising to knit clothes and socks to the baby. Tom had had to drag Molly away from her discussion of knitting-patterns with Mrs. Hudson and then they were off, leaving the remaining in a much more cheerful mode than before.
Now they were all gathered by the fire, sipping their mulled wine and exchanging gifts. After a while Sherlock stood up, gathering John's coat from the rack and handing it over to him. "Let's see if I taught you anything then." Silence. "Go on John. Observe." John, sighing and shooting Sherlock a suspicious look, took the coat and looked it over, front and back. He touched the seams, checked all the buttons, opened up the pockets and turned it inside out. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. "I can't find anything. What have you done with it?" He finally asked, cursing himself for being forced to do so.
Sherlock shook his head, but looked very pleased. "Oh John, you see, you just don't observe. Check the inside to the left again." John did as he was told and there it was. A tiny button, indicating an inner- pocket, completely invisible at first. He probably wouldn't have noticed it at all if Sherlock hadn't told him where to look. He shot a questioning look at Sherlock who explained, barely containing his self-satisfaction.
"I've had all of your jackets, coats and blazers re-made. Now they all have an inner-pocket custom made to fit your gun. I don't want you to ever walk out of the flat unprotected, and this way you can always carry it with you." Sherlock exclaimed proudly, although blushing a little. Lestrade opened his mouth, no doubt to lecture them both about the danger of constantly carrying a gun in public, but Sherlock silenced him with a look.
John felt such a strong wave of gratitude and love for the other man, he had to sit down. Instead of saying anything about it though, he went for the fake indignation and said "How on earth did you managed to do that without me noticing?"
"Oh please John, I have my methods. I've done things far worse without you noticing" The detective said, smirking.
"Bastard" John said, pulling Sherlock down and placing a soft kiss on his lips. "Thank you. I love it." Sherlock smiled, looking extremely pleased with himself.
More presents were exchanged and John received several home-made jumpers from Mrs. Hudson, the other one more hideous than the last. He thanked her dearly, but made a promise to himself never to wear any of them in public.
Eggnog had been made and they sat chatting comfortably when John coughed and nodded towards the door. "Greg, you mind giving me a hand?" Lestrade smiled smugly. "No not at all John". With a quick glance at a mildly interested Sherlock and an extremely curious Mrs. Hudson they strode out of the living room and down the stairs, one after the other. Mrs. Hudson immediately ran to the window and watched the two men unload a heavy box wrapped in red and gold paper from the back of a police car who was parked right in front of 221. She and Sherlock then listened to the scraping and swearing and muttering as the box was heaved up the stairs and put down in the middle of the room.
Lestrade wiped his forehead and took his seat in the sofa again. Mrs. Hudson's eyes were bright with curiosity. John grinned, and with a gesture towards the package he said "Well then…Merry Christmas Sherlock".
Sherlock looked surprised, as though he hadn't expected to receive any presents (though he'd received plenty already), and certainly not one the size of a small bed. "Is that…for me?" He didn't even try to hide his surprise. John smiled. Never mind how clever he was, how many times he risked his life or how grown up he pretended to be – John knew that deep down Sherlock was just a small child who loved presents, the bigger the better. And judging by the light in Sherlock's eyes as they fell on the big package, this was a big hit.
"Of course it is. Now open it" John said, dragging Sherlock up from the sofa. "And don't try to deduce what it is, you'll never come up with it anyway". Sherlock shot a sharp look at John who clearly said 'Try me', but he kept silent and started to eagerly tear up the wrapping paper instead. He opened the lid of the box and ran his hands over hundreds of folders, binders and note-pads.
"Every unsolved case in London from 1864 until now. Mostly murders." John said, grinning even more at the look on Sherlock's face. "Knock yourself out. It should keep you occupied for at least two weeks."
Sherlock just stared back and forth between John and the package, his mouth open. Mrs. Hudson just shook his head, mumbling something that sounded like "Murders for Christmas present …? Oh dear…well a least it's better than thumbs in the fridge…"
Sherlock was still speechless. John caught Lestrade's eye and they both chuckled awkwardly. They had though it would be an appreciated gift, but neither of them had anticipated this reaction.
"John" Sherlock's voice was thick, as though he'd been strangled. "John…this is amazing. It's the best gift I've ever gotten." And with a quick movement he was in front of John, his hands on either side of his face. "Thank you, John" he said, kissing him passionately. John put his hands on Sherlock's waist, and if they'd been alone, he would not have settled with a kiss, but for now it was quite enough. He knew it had been the perfect gift, and he'd cherish that look on Sherlock's face, carve it into his memory forever. They stood there for a long time, just looking into each other's eyes until Lestrade cleared his throat and very loudly said "I'm going to get some more eggnog, anyone else? Mrs. Hudson?" She got the hint and responded very quickly with "Oh yes please, dear. I'll come with you" They left the living room, leaving John and Sherlock alone, chuckling at the other's quick departure.
It was well past midnight when Lestrade bid his farewell, helping a slightly unsteady and giggling Mrs. Hudson down the stairs. John stood by the window, a cup of tea in his hands, admiring the beautiful sight stretching out in front of him. The snow had started to fall again, making London look more like a Christmas card than ever. He sensed rather than heard Sherlock behind him, and he couldn't suppress a smile when the detective snaked his arms around his waist, curling his fists into the soft fabric of his jumper. Sherlock rested his head upon his shoulder, breathing in the scent of tea, cotton and John. He placed a soft kiss on the side of John's neck, letting himself enjoy the utter happiness he was currently feeling.
John's heart swelled when he heard Sherlock whisper three small words in his ear. All the gifts in the world be damned, that was the best Christmas present John could ever wish for. "I do too" he said, tilting his head to steal a kiss from the other man.
They stood there together for a long time, watching the snow fall and cover the rooftops. John knew that by tomorrow would the detective be his usual self, throwing himself over hundred and fifty year old murders and god knows what, so tonight, he would enjoy this rarely shown side of Sherlock. He heaved a sigh of content and smiled. He was happy.
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock"
"Merry Christmas, John".