The Twelve Days Of Next Christmas
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters, they belong to the BBC, Arthur Conan Doyle and any other respective owners. I also do not own anything else I reference throughout.
A/N: So I had a fair few requests last year to create some form of News Years sequel for these two but I honestly had no time to write anything in time for the new year what with the holidays and relatives and all that so instead I decided to write a sequel set around next Christmas and here it is. I'd probably say that this can't be read as a stand alone fic because this is like the fallout of everything that happened last year. Much like last year, I'll post a chapter a day in the run up to Christmas. This is more a gift to myself than anyone else because I love JohnLock and I love Christmas but I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing xxx
Day 1 – Monday 14th December, 2015
John entered his office, humming contentedly to himself as he slung his shoulder bag over the back of his chair and wandered off to the coffee machine.
He felt a sense of pride as he walked among the varying desks of the journalists tapping away at their desktops, knowing that he had his own office to disappear into and there was no more fretful hours spent working into the night trying to get a piece done in case he risked losing his job.
He'd made it.
Apparently, Sherlock wasn't the only one touched by his article about him last Christmas, it appeared to have touched the nation and before John knew it, it wasn't a raise he was getting, it was an editing position at the london-based political newspaper, Intuition. He'd been initially nervous about making the leap from writing into editing but had accepted the job nonetheless, knowing that he couldn't spend the rest of this life working for Gregson. After a few weeks, he'd gotten used to the shift and found he actually enjoyed his work, it came with a sense of pride and accomplishment that he hadn't had before.
But that wasn't the only reason for John's perky mood that morning. As he watched coffee trickle into his cup he contemplated the upcoming holiday. Christmas was fast approaching and John was feeling festive. He couldn't help it, he still retained that excitement he'd had when he was a child and he and Harry had stayed up past their bed time, desperate to get a glimpse of Father Christmas as he passed.
Plus it was all the more enticing this year when he didn't have to host the Christmas party. He grinned smugly to himself as he took his coffee and walked back to his office, snagging a newspaper from one of the desks on the way back.
John collapsed into his own chair and opened the newspaper. It wasn't theirs, obviously, but Intuition was politically based and John had to find out about the other news somehow.
He smiled to himself at the picture of Lestrade and Sherlock on page six; a drugs bust in the lower-east side of London. They were commemorating Lestrade for his bravery and it had been a small albeit present news item for the last few weeks.
Of course, John's good mood also owed to something else as well. The general air of happiness he felt these days. Because the approach of Christmas also meant the approach of his and Sherlock's one year anniversary.
Some days John couldn't believe that they'd been together an entire year, or been as happy, but then other days it felt like no time at all. Like there would never be enough time.
It had truly been the best year of John's life.
…
Sherlock's year, however, hadn't been so great.
He cradled a coffee in one hand as he snagged an abandoned newspaper from a desk, making his way to his office in the Met. His face fell when he realised what newspaper it was. The Westminister Herald, his boyfriend's old paper. But after John had left, they had taken a less than positive approach towards the detective and couldn't go a day without printing some kind of slanderous article.
He was pleasantly surprised to find that today, he'd made the front page.
BRITAIN SAFE? Was all the headline read.
Sherlock scanned quickly through the article, picking out a few choice phrases as he went.
Is this country safe...such a cold, heartless, strange example...an esteemed police force in ruin?...
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he took a sip of coffee that was just a little on the warm side. This had been going on for months now. The moment he'd outed himself, as it were, with John Watson and returned to the truth of himself, his admittedly cold yet refreshingly normal self, the press had done what the press did best. It turned.
He'd been the subject of press slander for months, he assumed they would get bored and move on to something more interesting but apparently he was the juiciest story at present. Britain must have had little to do in 2015.
Also, this wasn't the first article that had called for him to be sacked.
Sherlock stopped walking as he contemplated such a thing and was momentarily surprised when Greg Lestrade patted him on the back.
"Don't worry about that." Lestrade said warmly. "You're not going to get sacked over press rubbish." The detective inspector went suddenly quiet. "Don't tell John I said that."
Sherlock laughed. "John's famous now for being the only journalist to ever write anything positive about me." He joked, acknowledging Irene Adler walking past them in the corridor.
"There's nothing positive about you." She bit back as she passed, eyes narrowing before she turned down the corridor and out of sight.
"Is she ever going to stop hating me?" Sherlock commented. Somewhat rhetorically.
"Probably not." Lestrade replied regardless.
As Lestrade poured himself a cup of coffee, probably one of the only allies he had left in the Met, he wondered if things were easier or harder before.
"So what does John make of all this crap?" Lestrade asked, gesturing to the newspaper in Sherlock's grip as if John Watson was some leading authority.
"He's more political now," Sherlock commented, "luckily much of it doesn't really pass through him anymore. But that's a good thing, it would break his heart otherwise."
Lestrade watched the dumb little smile come across Sherlock's face as he spoke of his boyfriend and shook his head minutely to himself, wondering exactly how anyone could call him heartless.
…
The Christmas market was in full swing that evening. Wooden shacks adorned with multi-coloured fairy lights were stood uniformly in rows throughout Trafalgar square. Some selling mince pies or olives and sweetmeats while others sold hand-made Christmas decorations or scented candles some unfortunate, unloved relative was sure to receive.
London's ice-blue Christmas lights twinkled in the starless sky and the annual tree stood proudly in the centre, next to a cheaply-constructed winter-wonderland where Father Christmas and his baby reindeer were amusing the small children gathered round, all swaddled in hats and scarves to fight the cold brought on by the blanket of snow that covered the ground as if Earth were its own wrapped present.
John stood leant against the back of a bench, the two hot chocolates in his hand the only source of warmth he had. But he didn't care. He was too busy watching the little children with the reindeer and imagined how magical it must have been for them. He imagined the day he would bring his own children to meet Father Christmas and hoped they liked it as much as he did.
John's reverie was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a tall, dark figure in a long coat.
"Hey, sorry I'm late." Sherlock apologised profusely, leaning forward and pressing a chaste, cold kiss to John's lips.
John took in Sherlock's appearance for a moment; eyes wide with sincerity, flakes of snow clashing with his ebony locks and nose tinged pink with the cold. John smiled as he reached up and kissed it, willing some warmth into it.
"It's okay." John smiled, handing Sherlock a hot chocolate which the detective accepted gratefully. "Did a case keep you back?" John asked sympathetically, grateful his new editing position afforded him at least some control over his hours.
Sherlock nodded. "Getting research information used to be a lot easier before..." Before people started hating me. He bit his tongue and quickly changed tact. "...Before they changed the filing system." He finished lamely.
John slipped his gloved hand into Sherlock's and Sherlock contented himself with the knowledge that not everyone hated him.
The pair began a slow pace throughout the market stalls. John seemed quite content to look at anything and everything but Sherlock was far more content with watching John, he was like a child, his eyes went bright and he had a brilliant energy. He'd really been holding back how much he'd loved the holiday last year...but Sherlock supposed hosting a party for your entire family with no notice and having a looming article would stress anyone out.
"Why are we here?" Sherlock finally voiced grumpily, feigning boredom in an attempt to get his boyfriend's attention.
John, however, merely rolled his eyes.
"I thought you looooved Christmas." John replied sarcastically.
"Oh, you're funny."
"Some of us actually like Christmas." John supplied truthfully, knocking Sherlock playfully. "Some of us like to pretend we're normal."
Sherlock raised an accusing eyebrow. "You're not fooling anyone."
John knocked him again, painfully this time.
Sherlock disentangled himself from his boyfriend from fear of another attack and swivelled, admiring some of the Christmas baubles on sale. He didn't really mind all that much, but in all honesty, John was so cute when he was playfully teased.
"It's too early for this." Sherlock bitched grumpily, "Christmas is ages away."
"It's the fourteenth of December, you Grinch." John huffed. "I've been hearing Christmas music since November First."
Sherlock swivelled back to see John with his back to him, looking at one of the other stalls. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist from behind, resting his chin on his shoulder. John didn't even flinch.
"Sorry." He said.
"You're cold, aren't you?" John voiced.
Sherlock hesitated. "Yes."
John laughed but would never wriggle free, quite content with Sherlock's arms around him, regardless of the reason.
Instead, he turned in the cocoon of Sherlock's embrace and wrapped his arms around the detective's neck, gloved fingers playing with his ebony curls.
Sherlock's piercing grey eyes looked down at him with a softness that John hadn't known before they'd gotten together.
"This year has gone too quick." He said, sounding glum.
Sherlock smiled lopsidedly as he placed a cold kiss to John's forehead. "Don't worry. We have a whole new year in a few weeks and all the time in the world."
John couldn't help smiling at the prospect and surged forward and kissed Sherlock. He recoiled immediately from Sherlock's icy mouth.
"You really are cold." He admitted, shocked.
"I told you." Sherlock pointed out.
"I guess you need...warming up." John said coyly before kissing him again. More prepared this time.