A. A. N. Ok, this is supposed to be for this month's Sherlock challenge on Tumblr, which is, unsurprisingly, Christmas. But I know I'll need until the end of the month to write it properly, so here you have a snippet as prologue because I wanted to advertise the initiative before it ended. It's a charity event organised by Save the Children on December 16, and here is the relevant link: ht tp s: two slash christmasjumperday period or g
Christmas Jumper Day
"Absolutely not, John," Sherlock declared sternly. "I will not go to the Met's Christmas party."
"But I told you, it's for a good cause. They're participating to Christmas Jumper Day this year. For the children! You might pretend to be a sociopath all you want, Sherlock, but I do know you... and you have always had a soft spot for kids," his flatmate countered. True, the consulting detective wasn't very good with people, much less crowds, but this surely warranted an exception.
"They are less idiots than adults, sometimes," the sleuth conceded, shrugging. "I wonder if logic is brainwashed out of people by society on purpose, you know."
"Yeah, well, you can conduct all the social experiments you want at the party," John prompted, hoping the – certainly unwise – concession might tempt his friend. Sherlock Holmes was a celebrity after everything that happened... which meant that news of his participation might draw more people to the event. More people meant more money for children in need of saving. Everybody won.
"Besides, if it's a jumper-required occasion, I will have to be excused. I don't own any," the detective retorted, smiling. He was all for helping the children – he'd make a sizable anonymous donation to the association. He just didn't see why that would require submitting himself to the company of a bunch of drunk idiots.
"I'll buy you one," the doctor replied immediately, waving away the obstacle. He would have offered one of his own, but it would have looked ridiculous on someone taller and a bit leaner than he was. Sherlock already didn't like the idea of knitwear. There was no need to offend his aesthetic sense, too.
"Only if I can do the same – and you'll wear it," the detective bartered, a calculating glint in his eyes.
"Sherlock...I do own a Christmas jumper. I own several, in fact," John reminded him, feeling rather uneasy.
"Yes, but your taste is...well..." the consulting detective trailed off, with a vague gesture. Not that he really hated John's taste. But there was not one of John's jumpers which utterly complimented him, in his opinion, and that needed to be remedied.
"So is it a deal? Are we going, wearing jumpers selected by each other?" the doctor insisted, wanting a clear agreement so that Sherlock would not try to find a loophole and refuse at the last minute.
The sleuth sighed. "We're going. Unless there's a case last minute."
"Lestrade will have warned his colleagues to let you have that one evening, and he's certainly not calling you in himself," his blogger pointed out. They'd discussed it in advance, knowing that was how his flatmate would have tried to avoid the reception.
"Mycroft might call, though. You know how these politicians are, always losing state secrets," Sherlock remarked, huffing in scorn at their ruling class.
"True, well then, we better call your brother and tell him you'll be busy that day. After all, whatever national emergency will keep for an evening...or he can put his secret service on it," John said, taking out his phone. "You know what, since we're already calling, I'll invite him too o the party. I'm sure Lestrade won't mind. More people, more contributions."
"You wouldn't dare," the sleuth retorted. Mycroft and parties didn't mix. Honestly, he still wondered how someone who despised humanity as a whole like his brother had ever managed to go anywhere in politics, much less acquire his position.
The doctor's look said, "Watch me," as clearly as any word, and indeed, he was calling Mycroft and explaining the initiative. A jumper and a couple of pounds to spare for kids in need. It was all you needed to participate. "Really? Thanks Mycroft, see you there," he concluded, with a smug grin.
At that, the consulting detective ripped the phone from his hand, fully expecting the whole call to have been faked. There was no way that his brother would agree to attend. This time, though, he was in for a shock. Not only Mycroft Holmes was effectively on the line, but he confirmed that he would take part to the party John had 'so thoughtfully' invited him to and sternly announced that he expected to see his little brother there.
"But...but Mycroft...there'll be people! You hate people! The only club you are a member of is Diogenes, where people are meant to be silent, for God's sake!" the younger Holmes protested.
"Believe me, Sherlock, I am very aware of that. But unlike you, I can behave and suffer through a couple unpleasant hours if the result is worthwhile... And this charity event definitely has that requirement. See you soon, brother mine. Otherwise, I might have to inform Mummy of a few things..." the elder brother trailed off, smirk evident even over the phone.
"This is blackmail!" the consulting detective protested loudly.
"Well then, at Scotland Yard you'll be able to press all the charges you want. I'll see you there, Sherlock," Mycroft concluded, before hanging up.
He really had no choice, had he? He would have to go to a party. With actual people. People who hated him – at least 90% did, and that was a prudent estimate. Drunk people who hated him. The things he did for John. If Mycroft really showed up, of which he wasn't at all sure, he could tease him, at least. Or play Deductions drunk. They'd never played drunk – or, in his case, high. Maybe Mycroft wouldn't win this time.