Note: I'm sorry if I heart anyone's feels but I REALLY wanted to write something like this just before Christmas! I know it's probably very cheesy but I just want to give cheesiness a go.(PLUS I must admit I was inspired by Michale Buble's version of 'All I want for Christmas is you'). Apologies for the shortness and I apologise if it's a little rushed- it's another of those 'spur of the moments' things. Hope you all enjoy!
"Thanks for the party! Hey- our place next year, okay?" Greg laughed, his cheeks a little rosy from the beer and wine. He tossed an arm around John's shoulder, nuzzling his cheek while ruffling his short oak hair with his large hand. The shorter man merely smiled nervously, gently nudging the tipsy detective with his elbow, hoping to avoid any sick being stained into one his cheesy yet loved Christmas jumpers.
"Okay-Okay Greg, I suggest you go and get your arse in bed before Mrs Hudson tries to set you up for the night. Go on, bugger off." The doctor spoke, trying to push him from the door.
With Holly and Anderson helping him, Greg and the rest of the party goers finally slipped out of the door to leave 221 B Baker quiet like before… For a split second it looked as though nothing had changed since those two years ran by.
The lights of the tree continued to twinkle, the star sparkling while the fire still crackled with warm radiating from its flames.
John took one look around the room while evaluating the damage the previous hours of festive drinking had brought fourth. But there was nothing too bad and a lack of energy was holding the man back to begin any pre-clearing up. With a sigh, he slowly approached the table where his laptop sat (luckily unscathed from beer drops or stray tinsel).
He sat himself down, opened the laptop and grabbed a glass of lager that sat on the edge of Sherlock's chair. He booted it up and sat back. As he sat there, the man began to think. A frown lingered on his lips, the silence becoming to grow louder than the music that was on not long ago. There was a pain of silence… an old pain… Well, even if it was old, it felt as though it was still fresh…
"…" He softly rubbed his forehead and eyes. Once ready, John opened a word document and began to type. It wasn't a wish list like anyone would consider any one would do so close to Christmas. But it seemed this wasn't the case. John took a sip of his lager before putting the glass down and began to type.
Dear Sherlock,
Yeah… You would start laughing, wouldn't you? Knowing that I'm typing a letter for you. I guess I'm a little bit desperate at this point.
My councillor said that the only way I'll be able to feel 'better' if I wrote you letters. Since that was a few months ago, I thought I wouldn't need to write one of these but I guess this season has really gotten to me.
It's been two years and it still hurts- there! I said it! I don't need a councillor to tell me I'm upset, I feel it every day and it bloody hurts, you know that? Ever since you decided to play your stupid flying act… It hurts… It really does. You flipping went and did something so bloody stupid!
You know what? This isn't going to be one of those letters otherwise I wouldn't have enough memory on my computer for everything I have to say about how much of an arse you are.
I thought that you might be interested about what's happened since you've missed so much.
I'm joking really- not a lot has happened. But knowing you, you know. You know Greg's hooked up with your brother (like that was a shocker). Mrs Hudson finally has a boyfriend! After another thirty three bad dates, mind you. Molly has even found a boyfriend, who knew?
I've continued working with the same surgery as well and it's been quiet- but you'll be glad to know I've been working with Scotland Yard. That's been fun.
For two years it has been quiet but… tonight, I realised something.
You see, everyone has been asking what I have wanted for Christmas. What would make me happy? What would make my Christmas?
Well.. I wouldn't mind money, maybe a surgery of my own? Maybe to spend more time with Greg at the pub or enjoy life a little more by travelling the world? It sounds nice, pretty good actually- I know it isn't as exciting as what I'm used to but, meh, apparently it's fun.
Though… You know what I really want? Something I would give my life for.
To see you again.
Merry Christmas, Sherlock
A small tear dropped to the floor, staining the wooden flooring at Watson's foot. The doctor sniffed and wiped his eyes, downing the last of his drink before placing the empty glass down and turned off his laptop.
After a few moments of at least trying to neaten the living room, John surrendered to the mess and returned to his own room.
The clock was already hitting twelve by the time he had prepared himself for bed. Clothes were neatly piled on a chair, the lights had been turned off and the bed was ready. John climbed in with a fresh pair of pyjamas and laid himself down- unsure to what night he would have. Lately it had been varying between short or troubled with unnerving nightmares… a mix of Afghanistan and that horrible day.
He sighed, rolling onto his sighed as he closed his eyes. A long yawn rumbled from his throat and soon enough the alcohol had lulled him into a pleasant alcoholic slumber.
Usually at this time, the story would turn to the chimney beginning to shudder as a jolly fat-man comes down with presents. Though something much different happened on this particular night.
As the clock chimed three 'o' clock, the sound of a key turned and a door slowly creaked open. The sound of soft footsteps echoed in the flat. A small chuckle peeped from the darkness. The footsteps continued up, moving into an old, empty bedroom before walking into the second occupied room.
The tall figure stood close to the bed, watching as the ex-army man slumbered peacefully. It even dared to sit down beside him, a thin hand reaching out to softly run his long finger's through the short hair.
John mumbled something breathlessly but seemed to react to the touches, softly moving into the hand. The figure smiled and leaned down to press a small kiss to his forehead. Though his visit was not long. He removed a package from his coat pocket- a dainty little package of crimson wrapping papers and a golden bow. He slipped it under the covers and soon enough slipped out of the apartment and into the cool, crisp night.
In the morning, John awoke to find this small present on his stomach from where he had held onto since his mysterious visitor had left.
He squinted, grumbling softly as he sat up but soon peered to the package in his hand.
"…" Quietly he examined it as though it was a bomb. He looked at the paper, the bow and yet came to no conclusion. He had not seen it before nor remember even vaguely knowing where he had seen it- at all. After a few minutes of thinking, he came to one conclusion- open it.
Carefully, he opened every crease, corner and finally the bow before revealing a phone. The man blinked, furrowing his brow as he turned it on. Of course it had a simple background, simple start-up, John was about to call Greg to ask if he could tell him anything about it. Though, before he could do anything, text message appeared.
With a small raise of his brow, the man merely pressed it… Only to feel his heart leap into his throat.
There- in his hand, was a very special Christmas. On the message it read:
'Merry Christmas, John. Look forward to next year- SH'