A/N: Merry Christmas one and all. And even if you don't celebrate it, may your day be one of good cheer. Thanks to my beta for helping me get this out in time for Christmas.
Sherlock hadn't wanted to do the whole "Christmas outing" thing, but John insisted. He claimed that he just wanted to spend time with the detective that wasn't either lazing around the flat or chasing criminals. Sherlock had scoffed, but after much bullying and many threats of throwing out the pig's blood that was currently congealing in the fridge, he finally agreed.
They started the day by going to a Christmas market to do their holiday shopping.
"All right," John said as he looked at his list, "we need to get gifts for Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly and Mycroft. I already have Harry's."
"I don't understand why we have to get Mycroft anything at all," Sherlock groused, his arms folded tightly to his chest and shoulders hunched.
"Because he won't expect it."
Sherlock blinked and then straightened up. "I like the way you think."
"I know you do," John said, grinning at his friend. He looked back at the list. "So, let's see: a new kettle for Mrs Hudson; a cat bed for Molly's cat, Toby; a coffee machine with good coffee for Greg; and a new fob for Mycroft's pocket watch." John looked up at his friend with a grin. "You do realize that most of these gifts are to replace things you've destroyed, right?"
Sherlock hunched his shoulders again. "Lestrade's was an accident. I was trying to be nice and make a cup of coffee. I do know how. I make it for myself all the time when you're gone. I still have no idea why the thing decided to explode in my presence."
John chuckled. It was quite the sight to see, the detective standing there, completely singed and covered in coffee grounds. He then declared that the Yard was unsafe and refused to go anywhere near the place for weeks. It took going caseless for about two weeks before Sherlock finally broke the ban.
What made John sad was the fact that Sherlock also went twice that long before doing something nice for someone else and even then it was John himself who was the recipient. Though it was hard to argue when the last time Sherlock tried, it literally blew up in his face.
"I'm aware," John said. "But the malicious destruction of your brother's fob chain wasn't. Nor was using Mrs Hudson's kettle to boil frogs. I have never seen our landlady so upset."
"I had to borrow hers. Ours is the new electric kind and wouldn't have worked. The frog had to be boiled in the same kind of kettle that the killer used. And as for the fob chain…well…it wasn't as though he needed it." Sherlock shrugged. "Both items were used to catch murderers. They should be grateful, honestly."
"It also means you get to replace them," John replied.
"If you say so."
Once they finished buying the gifts for their friends, they split up to buy each other presents. They promised to meet up at the ice skating rink in an hour. John loved skating. It was his favorite thing to do in the winter time when he was growing up. They had already gone once this season, but Sherlock sat on the sidelines and no amount of begging would convince him to join John on the ice.
It took John longer than he would have liked to find something special for Sherlock. He didn't want to get his friend something practical because it wasn't personal enough. But on the other hand he didn't want to get him anything super nice, because that was too personal. He was about ready to give up in frustration when he came across a little shop selling antiques. There in the window was the most beautiful sterling silver lockpick set, nestled in a leather and velvet pouch.
He went in to inquire about the price. It was a little over his budget, but he didn't care. He had to get it for Sherlock. It was just too perfect to pass up. He would just have make sure that he didn't give it to his friend around Greg or Mycroft, as either would protest.
John finally made it to the rink, albeit a little later than he would have liked. He didn't see Sherlock on the ice or in the stands, so he made his way to the small cafe that was attached to the rink. It sold hot drinks and pastries to patrons wanting to warm up a bit. Sure enough, there was Sherlock sitting in the corner. He wasn't alone. Sitting next to the detective was the most dashing young man John had ever seen.
He was also sitting far too close and his hand was on Sherlock's arm. It was clear to John that the man was flirting with his friend. To this day he couldn't explain what happened next, only that it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
John grabbed two coffees. One black with three sugars, the other with milk. He then walked over to the two men. He set the black coffee next to Sherlock and then put his now-free hand on his friend's back.
"There you are," John said, smiling down at Sherlock. "I was looking for you."
Sherlock blushed as John's hand wandered down to the small of his back.
"Who's your friend?" John asked, rubbing minute circles into the wool of the Belstaff. Sherlock arched into the touch and John smirked at the man, who had by this point removed his hand from Sherlock's arm.
"Oh, this is Richard," Sherlock said. "We were discussing the physics involved with ice skating."
"Sounds interesting," John acknowledged. He dipped his hand a little lower and then back up again. "You going to join me this time, or are you going to spend it looking at my arse again?
Sherlock blushed a deep crimson. He didn't think John had noticed that he had been watching his bum. But apparently he had. John was also acting like a jealous boyfriend, if the glares he was shooting Richard were any indication. To test this theory he looked up at John and with a cheeky grin replied, "Well, I was going to join you, but you did wear those jeans I like."
John laughed. "Whichever you choose, love, I'll see you later. I'm going to grab my skates." Then he leaned down and kissed Sherlock on the temple.
Sherlock grinned. Theory confirmed.
"Nice meeting you, Richard," John said with a triumphant smile.
After John had strolled away, Richard turned to Sherlock. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were with someone."
Sherlock wanted to say that he wasn't, but to be honest, he liked the feeling that he and John could be together.
"We've only recently gotten together," he said. Like, oh, five minutes ago. "But we have been friends for years."
"That would explain it," Richard said as he stood up. "Well, he's a very lucky man. I hope he realizes that." He shook Sherlock's hand.
"I'm the lucky one," Sherlock said. Richard smiled and walked away.
As Sherlock finished his coffee, he thought about what happened and decided it was a good thing. He got up and paid for a set of rental skates, then made for rinkside. There he found his blogger being flirted with by a buxom redhead. But as he neared, he realized that John was not happy at all about this.
"Look, miss," John growled, "whoever you are, I know what you are doing. And even if I was interested, I don't date taken women."
The redhead pressed close to John, not quite touching. "I'm Heather and you're hot. What makes you think I'm taken?"
John rolled his eyes. "Because you keep tossing glances at the guy with his head stuck in his phone. You are trying to make him jealous. Which would only work if he was paying attention. But he's not."
"And if I were to dump him?"
"Wouldn't make a damn bit of difference," John replied. "I am nobody's rebound and besides, I said I wasn't interested. I should have been more clear. I'm not interested because I have a boyfriend."
"Oh, honey. That just makes you more interesting," Heather purred.
That was when John snapped. He picked the woman up and dumped her unceremoniously on the lap of her boyfriend. The man squeaked as he suddenly had an armful of redhead.
"You either treat her better, or dump her. She is hitting on other men," John growled.
The man glared at Heather and she opened her mouth to protest. John stalked off. He looked up, and his face went from a veritable cloud to pleased as he saw Sherlock standing there.
He hurried up to his friend. "Hey, I didn't think you'd be coming until later. I didn't ruin your chat, did I?" Which hadn't been John's plan at all. He just wanted the other man to know Sherlock was his. Which wasn't true, but it should be.
"No," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "To 'ruin' it would imply that your presence had been unwelcome, and that couldn't be further from the truth."
John beamed up at his friend. They put on their skates and made their way to the ice. There weren't many people there. A few couples and some kids, but for the most part it was clear.
Once they were on the ice, Sherlock began to skate backwards quite masterfully.
"I thought you couldn't skate," John groused at his friend's fluid grace.
"I said I didn't like to skate. There's a difference." Sherlock stopped skating and leaned in close to John to whisper, "Catch me if you can, John Watson." And gleefully dashed off.
John blinked a moment and then yelled, "You're on!" And he gave chase.
Sherlock laughed. He led them around the rink, weaving around the other patrons. They never hit anyone, but John had a couple of close calls as someone would cut him off accidentally. The chase finally ended when one of the kids cut Sherlock off and in his attempt not to barrel into her, John barreled into him. They fell to the ice in a tangle of limbs and skates, narrowly missing the wicked blades.
Sherlock and John began to laugh as they tried to unravel themselves from each other. John's breath hitched when he saw how close their faces were. Sherlock breathed out slowly and then took John's face in his hands, the leather cold against his skin. John stopped breathing all together as Sherlock brought his lips to press against John's.
They only came up when they heard the kids giggling behind them. They laughed, and after a few tries, John managed to get them untangled enough to stand.
"That was…amazing," John said after he caught his breath.
"Do you think so?" Sherlock asked, but there was a twinkle in his eye indicating he knew exactly what John thought of the kiss.
John laughed. "You just want me to say, 'Of course it was.' And you tell me I'm the sentimental one. Come here, you great git." And John pulled Sherlock in for another kiss. Suddenly, Sherlock's dusty pink cheeks suddenly had nothing to do with the cold.
"Angelo's?" John asked when they had finally broken off the kiss. Sherlock smiled.
"See? You are the sentimental one," he told his blogger.
"Looks like we both are. Come on let's go. My arse is freezing in this short coat. I knew I should have worn the longer one, but the tails kept getting caught around my knees."
"Well, if you weren't so short," Sherlock said, and then skated off to avoid getting smacked on the rear for his comment.
"Oi! You get back here!" John said, and laughingly chased him to the rinkside. They took their skates back and grabbed a coffee for the road.
Angelo saw their joined hands and immediately wanted to celebrate. He brought out candles and a bottle of his best red wine. He was so boisterous in his congratulations that Sherlock's face took on a pained expression. It took John a few minutes longer to be annoyed by all the constant attention.
Finally Sherlock had had enough and said, "If you would be so kind as to let us eat in peace, otherwise your wife might find out you've taken up smoking again."
Angelo backed away hastily and did his rejoicing from a much more respectable distance.
Mrs Hudson found out by chancing upon them when they were kissing at the bottom of the stairs.
She was almost more ecstatic than Angelo. She fussed and cooed. She even wanted pictures. They were forced to stand under the mistletoe while she took picture after picture. She finally made her excuses when John started to heat up the kisses until she got uncomfortable and left.
Sherlock and John told their families, of course. Mycroft was thrilled, Harry was too drunk to care.
Greg and Sally found out when they barged into 221B without knocking. Mrs Hudson had warned them when she answered the front door, she was just too discreet to say why.
They didn't exactly get an eyeful as Sherlock and John were fully dressed, but they were making out on the sofa in such a way that it was impossible not know what they were doing.
Greg huffed out a laugh, "About bloody time, you two."
Sally, on the other hand, her face was a contorted mask of disgust and revulsion. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted at John, but before she could get any further Greg cut her off.
"Enough! Sgt. Donovan, you may not like it, but you are in their home. Get out!"
She folded her arms and glared at him.
"Now!"
Sally huffed and then turned on her heel, promptly stomping out the door without so much as backward glance.
"Sorry about that," Greg said, turning back to Sherlock and John.
"It's alright, Greg," John replied. "So you got a case for us?"
"A serial killer who is using Edgar Allen Poe as the basis for his murders."
"It is Christmas!" Sherlock said and gleefully went off to get ready.
Poor Molly was the one that got the eyeful. She walked in on them having a go in a supply closet. She backed out hurriedly, mumbling something about using the supply closet two floors down next time, as no one frequents it. She then turned heel and ran.
John spent the week apologizing to Molly every chance he got. Sherlock would just grin and she would turn bright pink.
Christmas came and John couldn't be happier. He had Sherlock and a new coat that went to the middle of his thighs and looked suspiciously like his boyfriend's Belstaff, only black. And Sherlock loved his lockpicks. He even tried them out on every door in the flat. John would have minded if hadn't given him a great view of Sherlock's backside.
Yes. All in all, a great Christmas.