"John, no. I am not helping you hang up ornaments," Sherlock stressed the last word, acting like John had just asked him to be pleasant to Anderson or something equally impossible. John rolled his eyes at his flatmate.
"Sherlock, it's Christmas. You made me wait until December to start decorating, and now you're going to help," John insisted. Sherlock had been trying to wheedle out of the decorating all day and John had had enough. He looked up from the cardboard box of tinsel and lights to watch his flatmate for a moment. Sherlock was sprawled –that man never just sat, he had to take up the entire available surface possible- across the sofa, his dressing gown falling off his shoulders. At least he was wearing actual clothes this time instead of a bed sheet.
"But John-" Sherlock began, his voice taking on a whine like a small child.
"No buts. You're helping," John interrupted, getting up and grabbing Sherlock firmly by the arm so he could yank the detective off the couch. Sherlock groaned about for a bit, but with some urging from John he finally assisted with trimming the tree and hanging fairy lights around the room.
"Sherlock, can you give me hand? I can't quite- reach," John admitted, trying to hang a bundle of green plants from the doorway. Sherlock blinked curiously at the leaves and the cherry red berries. They seemed familiar… where was that information- aha. There it was.
"John, pray tell why are you hanging mistletoe?" Sherlock asked curiously, taking the leaves from the doctor and hanging it easily so that it dangled down into the doorway. John turned slightly pink but answered nonetheless.
"My mum always used to hang it up. It just doesn't feel like Christmas without it up," John admitted softly, looking up at the mistletoe nostalgically. Sherlock's brow furrowed. Christmas at his home had never been so… homey. His family always celebrated it 'traditionally' by not speaking to each other while the servants hung all the sparkling, fragile decorations. Nothing like the simple homemade ornaments John had pulled from the boxes with a large smile.
Suddenly Sherlock recalled precisely the use for mistletoe. "You are aware, John, that if two people are caught beneath the mistletoe, they're honor-bound to kiss." John turned a dark shade of red, but Sherlock ignored his embarrassment, noting the small tinge of interest and growing pupils that marked the doctor's face. Sherlock carefully slid an arm around the former soldier's waste, taking his chin in his free hand and tilting John's face up to his own.
His mind, for once, was silent, hushed in on this one moment, this one second in time. Sherlock leaned down gently, giving John ample time to pull away if he so desired, and felt a fierce wave of triumph when John leaned closer. Finally, after an eternity of silent tension, Sherlock pressed his lips softly to John's. John relaxed into the kiss with a small sigh; a sound Sherlock could never have guessed the doctor knew how to make.
It only lasted a moment, Sherlock pulling back after a moment to stare at John's features, relaxed and happier than he'd seen them in a long while. Sherlock smiled gently. "Well, that was interesting," he breathed into the space between them. John's mouth –that mouth- quirked up in a small smile.
"Interesting is certainly the word," John murmured before pulling Sherlock back down to meet him.
