John loved Christmas. In fact, he loved the whole month of December in general. Everyone was just so happy and cheerful, and best of all were the beautiful decorations that adorned every house and street in London. John even enjoyed listening to all decidedly horrid Christmas songs that popped up as soon as November ended.
However, Sherlock was, for some reason, strongly against the whole celebration, saying the whole thing was "trivial". It didn't help that they were in the middle of a case for a good portion of December, and any mention or suggestion of putting up decorations or even just talking about Christmas plans were swiftly brushed away.
Even when the case had ended, Sherlock still wouldn't have any of it. So, when he had gone out suddenly on one his characteristic Sherlockian escapades, John took up the opportunity to inject some Christmas spirit into the flat (with a little help from Mrs. Hudson, of course). It was his first Christmas at the place, so why not try to make it fun?
Sherlock didn't return until quite a few hours later, and by that time John had a wreath over the fireplace, stockings over the mantel, tinsel strung around the walls, a little tree in the corner, and a meager pile of presents underneath said tree. Mrs. Hudson had even prodded him into wearing a rather heinous-looking Christmas jumper for humor's sake. Sherlock bounded up the stairs after entering 221B, his booming voice resonating throughout the whole building.
"I apologize for any inconvenience my short disappearance may have caused you, John, but there was something I had to…" He stopped, suddenly, at the entrance of the flat. "…John?"
John turned around. He had just put the last decoration, a petite golden star, on the top of the Christmas tree.
"Oh! Hey, Sherlock. I hope you don't mind. Mrs. Hudson and I decided to decorate the place a little bit. For Christmas, you know?" He smiled, hoping to lighten the situation.
Sherlock stayed still for a moment longer, then began to slink slowly around the room to where John stood, acting as though each piece of decoration was a ferocious animal waiting to spring to life. He eyed the tree especially, regarding it with a rather overly suspicious look.
"What is the meaning of this, John?" he growled.
"It's for Christmas, Sherlock," Sighed John.
"Christmas," Whispered Sherlock, his eyes flicking around the room.
"Yes, Christmas," reiterated John. "You know, Deck the Halls, Winter Wonderland, Jingle Bells and all that?"
Sherlock stared crossly at the tree, folding his arms over his chest.
John sighed again and motioned towards the presents underneath the tree, "Look, Sherlock, can't you at least be happy for the gifts you've got?"
"Gifts."
"Yeah, most of them are from Mrs. Hudson, though. There's also a couple parcels for us that Mycroft delivered a little bit ago-" Sherlock sneered at that comment "- and, course, a few from me!"
John bent down to pick up small box wrapped in newspaper and proudly held it out to show Sherlock.
The cross expression that covered Sherlock's face lessened a bit with curiosity as he reached to grab the gift, but John quickly drew his hand back.
"Ah-! Not until Christmas!" John laughed as Sherlock resumed the cross look. "It's only the 20th; You'll have to wait 'till the 25th to see what it is."
Sherlock frowned, "Why the 25th? Why not now?"
Sometimes John was really convinced Sherlock was nothing more than a five-year-old in a grown man's body, "Because, Sherlock, December 25th is Christmas Day. That's the day you open the presents people gave you. Don't tell you've somehow 'deleted' that from your brain too?"
Sherlock's blank/annoyed/curious appearance told John all he needed to know.
John let out an amused sigh and looked at the watch on his wrist, "Well, since you're here, I figure I can go out for a while. I'd like to get some presents for Mrs. Hudson and some people at Scotland Yard. Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone!"
Sherlock remained where he was as John headed for the door and left.
Christmas.
He sat down in a nearby chair and studied the tree John had set up. It wasn't very big. Couldn't be more than a meter and a half tall. Old. Shabby. Fake. Probably belonged to Mrs. Hudson. Multicolored lights and tinsel were draped it. The ornaments hung on the branches varied from cheap, plastic, and old to expensive, glass, and new. Both were probably on loan from Mrs. Hudson. That star, though, that star. It stood out the most. Sherlock could tell that Mrs. Hudson helped with most of the decorations, but that star atop the Christmas tree lacked her touch. It had a distinct soft golden color, tinged with silver around the edges. It practically glowed in the low light of the living room while being perfectly accented by the twinkling lights around the tree. No doubt it was bought as soon as it was seen. It was more than expensive, it was priceless.
It was John.
The tree itself was wholly John. Mrs. Hudson may have decorated around the flat, but he could see that John spent more time on the tree than anything else. The ornaments were placed is a haphazard yet meticulous way, to where the ratio of old-to-ornaments was evenly spread out and yet there was still clusters of them in spots.
Sherlock got up to study the rest of the flat. The decorations were confined mainly to the living room, it seemed. At least John knew not to go overboard with the whole thing; otherwise, he would have defiantly blown something up as soon as John had left.
Being as the majority of the Christmas décor was wonderfully dull and sparse, Sherlock turned his attention to the area of the fireplace. A humble wreath hung above it, while two small knit stockings over it. Walking closer to the attraction, Sherlock noticed that one had his name on it. The other had John's.
However, there was one last thing. On the edge of the mantel was Sherlock's skull in its usual place. Perched atop its bleached white cranium was a miniature Santa hat.
Sherlock couldn't help but to smile.
Maybe this Christmas wouldn't become so trivial after all.