"How about this one?"
Sherlock glanced up from his phone just long enough to give the woollen monstrosity a look of distain. "That is most heinous item of clothing I have ever seen."

He had never really liked Christmas. In the end it was just an over commercialised excuse to be belittled by family members. He'd never liked the singing, the absurd tradition of putting trees indoors, the tinsel, the mistletoe, the gift giving or the social obligation for most people to go to a service when they'd never believed in God in their lives. Of course, past experience didn't help either; years of awkward dinners featuring jibes at his future plans, jokes about his negligible love life and comments from aunts and godmothers about how thin he was getting had cemented his distinct lack of festivity.

John was the polar opposite. He'd been decidedly more upbeat and excitable since halfway through November, humming carols while he waited for Sherlock to finish in the morgue, returning from work with the amount of Christmas cheer you would expect of a 7 year old nearing the end of advent, browsing amazon for hours on end. He'd even called Harry up the other day, asking if he could come to visit. Now it was the 21st and not only was the flat decked out in all manner of seasonal decor, but he'd dragged Sherlock away from his experiments to go and buy a Christmas jumper.

"John, you have at least twelve jumpers already, I fail to see why you need any more." Sherlock had tried to reason, he was halfway through a case and hadn't really fancied traipsing through London in the cold.
"They're not Christmas jumpers..."
"Why on earth do you need a specific jumper for Christmas? Next you'll be dragging me off to look at Easter pullovers or Chinese new year cardigans."
"Don't be ridiculous..."
"I'm being ridiculous?!"
"You're being a Grinch." John had raised an eyebrow, knowing full well Sherlock had no idea what this pop culture reference meant: his go to strategy.
"Ok well even assuming that it's necessary to have a jumper just for the holidays, why do I have to accompany you?"
"You don't have to, I just thought maybe you'd be a bit more concerned with doing something nice..."
"By trawling the high street?"
"Oh come on, or I'll tell Mrs Hudson to get the reindeer antlers out..."

So that was how, partially out of fear that John would be true to his word and partially because he hadn't seen his boyfriend this happy for a while and did feel a hint of guilt to put a downer on his spirits, Sherlock came to be meandering around London, Christmas shopping.

"What is your thing against stripes?" John's slightly put out voice brought him out of his reverie and his gaze back up from the screen of his mobile.
"I don't have a 'thing' against stripes..." that wasn't a lie really, he had never particularly liked stripes, but that was before John has limped into his life. Now stripes were positively endearing.
"Oh yeah I forgot, you have a thing against Christmas."
Sherlock rolled his eyes, if they weren't careful they were going to attract more attention than the mildly curious looks of a few students, "I don't have a 'thing' against Christmas, I just don't appreciate trivial interruptions when I'm working. And I feel ostracised."
John sighed and replaced the offensive garment, Sherlock noticed how he took the time to put it back on the hanger, clearly trying to make life easier for the shop assistants over this busy period. He was always doing little things like that; he cared. "Believe me," he said, "it's a lot more normal to tow your reluctant boyfriend around marks and sparks than it is to leave him at home chopping up bodies."
"You know I was in the middle of a case..."
"Ok," John straightened the price tag with more force than was strictly necessary and turned to face the agitated detective. "What's up? And don't say nothing because we both know that's not true. I may not be a genius but I can tell when you're not happy."
The question came as a shock, usually John simply left him to mope on occasions like this. "I was in the middle of..." Sherlock started.
"No, I don't just mean today. You say you've got nothing against Christmas but every time anyone does anything remotely festive you get all prickly." the doctor placed his hands on hips and let his gaze bore right into Sherlock's eyes, not allowing him to look away. "What's up?"
"I... I just," Sherlock found himself tripping over his words, something that happened only on the rarest occasions, almost all of which involved John. His petty dislike of the season seemed trivial when voiced, but he could see John wasn't going to drop it. And after all, wasn't sharing what this whole new relationship thing was about? He took a slower breath to stop the torrent of excuses and began again. "I've never really enjoyed Christmas, you know I don't exactly have a bond with my family. It's never been a particularly pleasant experience..."
As he spoke John's grey eyes had widened, he clearly hadn't such a sentimental response. His whole expression softened and he stepped forward into Sherlock's personal space, taking up lithe wrists in his own tanned fingers.
"Hey, this year's different remember? It's my job to make it a pleasant experience, not theirs." That was something Sherlock hadn't even considered and he immediately felt a stronger sting of guilt. Of course John wasn't going to subject him to the horrifically uncomfortable family side of things. They didn't have to have the awkward catching up conversations because they already knew everything that was going on in each other's lives. It was just going to be another day together, except with no criminal activities permitted to disturb and everyone around them happier. Was there really anything wrong with that? "I'm not asking you to play carols or hang up mistletoe or anything, I'm just asking you to not be miserable." John continued, "I mean, it is Christmas, you could at least pretend to be enthusiastic."
The detective smiled, his rare, unabashed, genuine, crinkle-round-the-eyes smile that was reserved only for John, and nodded.
"Good." his blogger grinned back and him and turned back to the clothes rack. Sherlock wheeled round to browse the other side so that they faced each other and their fingers occasionally brushed as they skimmed the hanger.

"Hey look, this one plays carols of you press it!"
John's smile was so bright Sherlock honestly couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He clutched a frankly hideous burgundy affair to his chest. What appeared to be a reindeer but could have been all manner of evil creature was embroidered in the centre with a large red pom-pom for a nose. when he squeezed the collar it issued a feeble series of beeps that Sherlock faintly recognised as one of the songs John had been humming earlier that day. He thought he recalled hearing the name, he must have deleted it. He vowed to ask about it later, maybe he'd have hidden the violin sheet music away somewhere...
His nose wrinkled in disgust, "if you think I'm letting you wear that you are deeply mistaken."
John raised an eyebrow but replaced the hideous item. "Bossy..." Looking up, he shot Sherlock one of his rare, flirtatious smiles. "Come on, this is all a bit outside my I've-got-a-crappy-job-you've-got-no-job price range anyway. Race you to the sale rack!"
"John, we're not seven ye-" Sherlock started, but the familiar tug at his coat cuff jerked him into a run.

"Can we stop with the infantile running?" The detective demanded as they skidded to a halt under the gargantuan, red sale signs.
"Why?" John shot back at him, his cheeks reddening despite the shortness of their run. A few racks in a department store was nothing compared the many rooftops they'd covered on the south bank last night.
"People might talk." Sherlock grinned.
John smiled back and dropped his voice a few semi-tones, imitating the taller man as he completed their reference. "They do little else."

"Alright well you look over there and I'll take this one, it'll be quicker this way."
"What exactly am I looking for? I'm assuming anything with a purple label?"
"I am not extra small you twat! And you know that, you just said it to piss me off!"
"And you're getting better at this… Blue then?"
"All my jumpers are medium and if you make one more joke about my height I swear to God will force a tinsel halo on your massive head and make you sing ding dong merrily on high and put it on my blog."
"You'll still have to stand on tip-toe though…"

It took about five minutes before John spoke again. "Ok, how about this? No stripes, no singing, no reindeer..."
Sherlock looked up and couldn't help himself, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. His blogger's small fingers clutched a thick navy affair with red patterns along the hem, collar and sleeves. It was so dense that it left everything to the imagination, obscuring any hints of the body underneath. But in a strange way Sherlock preferred that. He admitted he was jealous and maybe a bit too possessive sometimes, so he liked the fact that only he really knew what was underneath the chunky knit and only he had permission to remove it. Sometimes looser and apparently impervious was more flattering.
"Yes."
"Really? Or do you just want to go home?"
"No, well yes... But I like it."
"Go on then, give me your best reasoning."
The detective couldn't help but smirk, he didn't hesitate in thinking oh if it's a reason he wants, then a reason he's going to get. It took fewer than three strides for him to cover the ground between them. All the ground. Sherlock stride right into the shorter man's personal space, leaning close so that blond bristles tickled the side of his face, taking a hold of comparatively small wrists so that his first and second fingers rested over John's pulse. He felt the doctor's breath hitch.
"It looks easier to take off..." he breathed, his tongue flicking ever so slightly against the shell of the shorter man's ear. From his position he couldn't see John's reaction, but he felt it. The barley suppressed sigh ruffling his curls and the familiar but intensely satisfying jump of elevate pulse beneath his fingers.
"You do know you're a terrible person don't you?"
He murmured an acknowledgement, worrying the skin of John's neck with his nose, nudging against the collar of his shirt...
But firm palms splayed against his chest pushed him back to standing, forcing his weight onto his heels again. "Yeah, ok, I can take a hint. I'll pay, you go flag us a cab. Five minutes alright?"
Sherlock nodded, but as he watched John retreating, an idea skimmed across his mind. instead of going straight out the store he headed downstairs to an area he'd previously hoped never to visit, the decorations department...

He waited until they were out of the cab and John was fumbling with keys before taking it out of his pocket. He wasn't entirely sure how it worked if he was honest, but he'd seen enough to learn from observation. It seemed to work anyway, John raised his eyes to the grey clouded heavens in frustration as his keys jammed again and his breath got caught as he spotted the pale leaves and white berries.
"You didn't have to..." he murmured, eyes still fixed on the plant above them as flecks of London's first December snow began to fall.
"I wanted to." Sherlock replied, for once not disgusted by the cliché. "You're right - "
"I am?" John interrupted, his eyes drifting from the mistletoe only long enough to cock his head sarcastically. "Certainly a rare occurrence."
Sherlock ignored him, "You're right in that it's Christmas. And while that doesn't mean anything to me, I know it means a great deal to you. And if your job is to try and make this one a pleasant experience for me, the least I can do is return the favour."
There was a long pause then, the blond's mouth had fallen open in astonishment. Snow swirled in the stunned silence, the flakes dusting both their hair and clothes and sticking to their eyelashes. Baker Street was starting to look almost postcard perfect, aside from the overturned bins and slushy tire tracks in the road. It took about half a minute before John seemed to realise he had yet to react and started to shake his head, laughing somewhat exasperatedly.
"You know," he said, "when you put your mind to it, you can be properly romantic..."
"I can do anything properly if I put my mi-"
"Alright, ruining it now."
"Not good?"
"Bit not good, yeah... Now are you going to kiss me or are we just going to stand here until I freeze my tits off?"
"I'm going to assume the correct answer to be the former?"
"You assume correctly..."

Christmas wasn't so bad after all, Sherlock contemplated as their lips met. It was cold, over-commercialised and irritating, yes, but some of the traditions did have their benefits. It wasn't as if they'd never kissed before, but for some reason the mistletoe and the snow and the faint clapping of a few teenagers on the opposite pavement made a difference somehow… He forgot all about the temperature and the prying family and the tacky lights out on their doorstep. They were hardly worth thinking about with freezing fingers warming at the nape of his neck and his own winding tighter into the fast loosening wool of John's Christmas jumper.

This prompt was given to my by my friend Bryony (metallicar-parked-at-221b . tumblr . com), so it's kinda her christmas prezzie :) but it's for all of you too of course. my tumblr is whatdoyoumeanionlygetoneotp (otpunderthemistletoe for xmas, please come and talk to me! reviews/comments/prompts all welcome :)

Merry Christmas Everyone! x