That's Easy for you to Say (all my Christmas wishes involve you.)
"John!" Sherlock shouted as he bounded up the stairs into the sitting room off 221B. "I've been given this gift, and I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with it," he said scowling and turning a wrapped box over and over in his hands.
John sat in his armchair and turned to face his flat mate. "Well, open it, Sherlock," John said amused.
"I know what to do with it, I just don't know what to do about it," he continued the exasperation in his voice causing his voice to rise in pitch. John thought he might be headed into a right strop unless he could head it off at the pass.
"What's in it and who's it from, anyway?" John asked nodding at the box.
"It's from Molly Hooper, and it's this," Sherlock said handing over a white cube of paper. "What's it for?" Sherlock looked genuinely perplexed at the object.
"It's a block of post it notes with Far Side cartoons printed on them. There's still space here for you to write something. You can use them to jot little notes to yourself and stick them on things. And, they're all Gary Larson's science jokes. See? Molly knows you like science and experimenting and she got you this so you'd have a laugh each time you used one."
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he pulled off the top post-it and looked over the cartoon on the first page. It showed a man in a lab coat carefully putting rivets into a large bomb and another man standing directly behind him holding an inflated paper bag he looked ready to pop. John laughed at the thing and glanced up to see Sherlock simply staring at it with confusion on his brow.
"How droll. But, I didn't get her anything. She handed it to me today as I was leaving the morgue. I just took it and said, 'Well, I didn't get you anything.' And left."
John could picture the strained scenario all too well. Molly had an obvious crush on Sherlock and stammered every time they shared the same space with the man. Sherlock usually made the whole thing worse by his inability to gauge human feelings.
"And," Sherlock continued looking down at the wooden floorboards of sitting room. Lestrade gave me this all wrapped up in a box with a bow," he pulled a blue scarf from his coat pocket and held it up for John to see. "He said it was to replace the one that got caught in the printing press when we were on that case involving the journalist, remember?"
John nodded and chuckled. "The damn thing almost strangled you before we could cut it off. What were you thinking examining that machine while it was running?"
"Yes, but why are people giving me gifts?"
"It's Christmas tomorrow, Sherlock. It's what people do around this time of year."
"Well, they've never given me gifts before. Why should they start now?" he put both objects in John's hands. "What should I do?"
"These are nice, thoughtful gifts, Sherlock. I think they are just showing you that they're thinking of you around this time of year. Perhaps they want to show their gratitude. Don't sweat it so much. You've been very busy with cases and haven't had time to go shopping…"
"Shopping?" Sherlock asked horrified. "I don't shop, John. I mean not intentionally unless it's for a case."
John knew that too well as they would both starve if he didn't go to the market and get food on a regular basis. He'd often wondered how Sherlock ever got new clothes as he'd never seen the man go into a shop. However, one of Mycroft's lackeys showed up one day with several garment bags containing a wide variety of custom made suit jackets, trousers and shirts. Sherlock simply accepted them and spirited them away into his room to join the other expensive, tailor made clothes in his closet.
"If you don't have any gifts," John said standing up and heading to the kitchen to put on the kettle for a cup of tea. "Then, do what I did when I was a kid. I made coupon books to give to my family and friends."
"Oh you mean like good for one free backrub?" Sherlock asked arching one eyebrow. "Really John, I don't think anyone would want that from me."
The idea of Sherlock giving him a backrub derailed his thoughts for a moment. He busied himself filling the kettle but couldn't get the image of Sherlock's long-fingered hands gently massaging his shoulders, neck, along his sides…sliding down to knead his buttocks. Not that he'd ever expect his "I'm married to my work" flat mate to ever offer to do that.
"No," he stammered a bit. "I meant like doing a nice favor for someone without expecting anything in return. I'm sure you could think of a way to offer your special talents to someone who might need them in the future. Or, in your case, you can refrain from calling a person an idiot for a period of twenty-four hours no matter how badly they screw something up," John said with a grin. "I bet that one would be worth its weight in gold, eh?"
"John, how much could a paper coupon weigh?"
"Well, I'm sure they don't expect you to give them gifts. I think they just want you to know you're in their thoughts," John said picking up Sherlock's paper cube from the table. "I'm putting this right next to your laptop on the table. You can leave me messages when you need to."
"I'd prefer to text," Sherlock replied but took the cube from John's hand and placed it on the fireplace mantel next to the skull. He then hung the new scarf up on a hook near the door. John thought he saw a small, smug look of satisfaction on his face as he did it. He busied himself with some equipment on the table and John went back to his chair and paper.
"You know," John said after a few minutes had passed. "I got you a Christmas gift."
Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock's head pop up. "Did you?" he asked narrowing his blue-grey eyes. "What is it?"
"I've hidden it somewhere you'd never think to look and you'll get it tomor…"
"It's in the vegetable crisper in the fridge," Sherlock said looking back down at his equipment.
"How did you? Oh, of course you figured it out. Did you peek?"
"No. I just deduced it. It's where you put things when you don't want me to find them. You think I never eat vegetables so I'd never look in a drawer especially meant to house vegetables."
"Right, don't peek," John huffed out. "I mean it, Sherlock." This was their first Christmas together as flat mates and John felt it was a bit of a milestone in their partnership. John had put some thought into his gift. He often found himself wishing he could tell Sherlock about his growing feelings towards him. With each case they solved, John found himself admiring Sherlock more and more. He wasn't sure what to call it, but his attraction for Sherlock often hit him at the most unexpected times. They might be running down a dark alleyway chasing after a criminal, or pawing through someone's trash and John would look up at Sherlock and want to stop him and tell him how much he meant to him. Sometimes he wanted to cup the man's face in his hands and kiss him fully on the lips. Those moments had taken him quite by surprise as he normally had those kinds of thoughts for the women he dated. So, he buried his fantasies deep and kept himself ready and available to help Sherlock with whatever he needed. He was content with that for now.
"Hmmm," Sherlock said. "I won't. As long as you don't try to find yours."
John looked up at that. "You got me something?" John asked and smiled. "Really?"
"Yes," Sherlock said and began humming a Vivaldi tune under his breath. "If I have to wait until tomorrow, then so do you."
For the first time in years, John was excited to open gifts on Christmas morning.