Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A.N. I was invited to participate to the fic celebration of PatPrecieux's birthday, and I am happy to participate! Thanks so much for all the happiness and cheer you share, with your stories and reviews. Happy birthday and many happy returns! And I know this isn't exactly a birthday fitting story…but I hope it'll make you smile!
Wrong gift
It took a while (mostly for John to trust himself around people he loved, bless Molly for stepping in and Mycroft for suggesting/ordering a proper therapist for him) but Rosie's first Christmas saw them all in Baker Street. Honestly, the blogger was mildly shocked that Sherlock would give him yet another chance…but –with Mrs. Hudson's support (consisting of rolling her eyes and huffing "how come you haven't done this yet, dearie?) – he decided to go ahead. After all, Rosie deserved a family. A proper family. Which didn't mean a white fence and a dog, and certainly not any mother, even if she was a ruthless assassin, but someone who loved her beyond reason, and that her dad loved, and wanted to be better for.
Hence John being on pin and needles on Christmas morning more than he'd ever been as a kid, waiting for Sherlock to open his gift. The part of him that was terrified, though, easily agreed to open his own first, especially because his – he needed to start being honest with himself, his beloved's – grin was brilliant.
The thin package crushed his hopes, instead. It was a simple t-shirt, but both on front and back, in a frame, was written – all capitals, too – "THIS MAN IS NOT A GAY".
"I thought that it'd simplify things, when we are out together with Rosie," the sleuth said, looking as if he expected a 'clever' or even 'amazing' any second. And John would have obliged, if he wasn't busy trying to get his gift back, only to be met with resistance (and damn the man for being a lanky git).
"Give it back," he hissed, "it's…it's wrong. You don't get it."
"You wrapped it yourself. There's no way that someone that cares about holiday traditions like you got the wrong gift – we've been drowning in paper exactly because you wanted to have a special design for every one of your friends," the detective pointed out.
"Yes, okay, but – it's personalized, okay, and the people who did the work managed to mess it up. I don't want you to have something subpar. I'll just send it back and have one corrected for you," John retorted. It was true, but that wasn't what drove his desperation.
"I won't hold what isn't your fault against you. Stop fretting. You clearly thought it would do as a placeholder. Just let me see it, will you?" Sherlock huffed.
The struggle to get it back only managed to rip the flimsy paper apart…and what should never have been revealed fell to the floor. They had the exact same idea (didn't someone say that you started mirroring people when you fell in love with them?)…but that wasn't the reason for John's panic. The reason was what the yellow tee boldly proclaimed to the world. All capitals, his too. The first sentence enclosed in a box of its own, blue-scarf, and the other two in red and separated by just a line. "HE IS KEEN EYED. AND THAT'S WHAT I LOVE HIM. EVERYONE HAS DIFFERENT STANDARD."
"I didn't know that gag gifts were common at Christmas," Sherlock said, half-choked.
John could take the excuse offered to him. Or he could stand his ground, confess the truth…and lose Sherlock. But would he really have Sherlock if all their relationship was based on a lie, if by omission? Was this what he wanted to teach Rosie? He invaded Afghanistan, dammit! "It's not," he said, refusing to let his eyes wander away from his flatmate, even if he felt as if he was in front of a firing squad. "And it's not a 'friendly love' or 'platonic love' or whatever. I thought I was so clever, letting that say it for me….but when it came around wrong, I should have taken it as the sign it was. Not welcomed. I'd hoped, but, well…I don't observe, do I?"
The grin spreading on Sherlock's face – lips, eyes, heck, even his hair seemed to brighten – would have been insulting, if not for the words that followed it. "It appears that for once I've been the blind one…and there is indeed a wrong gift in here, but it's definitely mine. I thought you didn't want me. I made my peace with it. But if..if you're serious…"
There were no more words, just a deep, heady, heavenly kiss. And then another. And then…well, Mycroft refused to let me have the tape. But you can be sure that Rosie has a proper family, with the most ridiculously in love parents in the whole world.
Sherlock refused to let John exchange his gift, despite generally being a grammar nazi. But, you know…sentiment. There's no way he'd give this one up, or refuse to wear it (even if the colours clash terribly, too – but he's too deliriously happy to worry about the aesthetic). And John did get a new gift. This time, his t-shirt – which he wears proudly on every outing, even when Sherlock is busy somewhere– says "Gay dad".