The Twelve Days Of Christmas
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of it's characters, they belong to their respective owners. There isn't a real 'Westminster Herald' as far as I know and anything else I reference (products, Christmas songs ect) I do not own.
A/N: So this a festive JohnLock fic for Christmas time, it has twelve chapters (obviously) that'll be posted everyday in the run up to Christmas because I adore Christmas. I want to wish all my readers a very Merry Christmas and to all of you who don't celebrate or celebrate something different, I wish you the best of health and joy xxx
Warnings: Minor swearing, nothing really bad. Some minor sexually suggestive content with nothing explicit, mentions of drugs, underlying theme of crime/death. Just generally tried to get away from my dark, twisted side and write a fluffy festive fic.
Day 1 - 14th December, 2014
John walked into the office of the Westminster Herald and grumpily dumped his coat onto his desk. He turned around when he saw his boss, Mr. Gregson, strolling towards him, looking like he didn't have a care in the world.
Alright for some, he thought to himself, but he dare not mention it.
"Sir, what did you call me in for?" John asked when Gregson approached him.
"Ah, John, good to see you." Classic Gregson, annoyingly cheery and avoiding all questions. He should have been a politician, not a newspaper editor.
"Sir?" John prompted again, in no mood to do this little dance.
"I have some work for you to do." Gregson explained.
John arched his eyebrow. "Work that couldn't wait until tomorrow? It's a Sunday."
"Yes, I know, John. But the event is tonight so it can't be avoided."
John squinted, not liking where this was going. "What event? What are you making me cover?"
"Tonight is the official honouring of Sherlock Holmes at the Metropolitan Police Station."
Oh no.
Sherlock Holmes, the Metropolitan detective that had been in and out of the news for a few years by now, famed for his impressive skills and the significant reduction of crime in the years in which he had been active. And a total arrogant prick.
"Why are they honouring Sherlock Holmes?" John asked. "Did he uncover another priceless lost painting or something?"
"No," Gregson explained, pursing his lips. "He's leaving, he's been offered a job at a top detective agency in New York." He told him with somewhat of an icy tone. Gregson was, of course, a bit of a fan girl for the great Sherlock Holmes. But then, most of Britain was as well.
Not John though, what everyone else saw as confident and flirty he saw as arrogant and irritating and he had been grateful he'd been able to avoid the detective in his journalism career. Up until now, that was.
"So you want me to go to this event and cover it?"
"And possibly get an interview with him."
John groaned internally. "Can't someone else do it?" He asked.
Gregson smiled at him. "Let's put it this way, if you value your job as a journalist, you'll cover this story."
John sighed, knowing that by all rights he should have been in bed in that moment. "Okay, fine, I'll do it. What time is the event?"
…
At 7 0 clock that evening, John Watson got out of a cab in front of the Metropolitan Police Station, straightening his tie. There was a police officer at the door who let John in, John thanked him awkwardly before walking inside the building and looking around momentarily for any sort of sign.
He saw a couple in evening wear walking down a corridor and began to follow them, not really caring if he looked subtle or not.
They all walked into a large room that John supposed was the break room, the room was filled with various people. A few John recognised from the papers and a few he didn't.
Sherlock Holmes was stood across the room talking to Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade. John carefully consulted the notes he had researched on Holmes in the slim folder he was carrying.
Of everything he had researched about the famed detective he could have filled a filling cabinet with, but he had picked the select few interesting bits and hastily stuffed them into his folder before setting off for the event.
He supposed if he had to get an interview with the detective now was the time to do it, he'd met Lestrade previously so he supposed he wouldn't mind him butting in quickly.
John strode confidently across the room towards the two men when he was cut off by two women walking in front of him and stopping dead centre, chatting excitedly.
Huffing to himself, John weaved around them only to find the two detectives gone.
He looked around for a moment until he heard the telltale squeaking of a microphone being turned on.
He swivelled to the other side of the room where he saw Lestrade tapping on the head of a microphone, Sherlock stood next to him with his hands behind his back, smiling sweetly.
John frowned and walked towards them, getting swallowed up by the crowd.
"Is this thing on?" Lestrade said into the microphone, his voice echoing loud and clear around the room, earning him a few good-natured chuckles.
"Err, anyway," he continued, "thank you all for coming tonight. As you all know, we are here to honour probably the best detective the force has ever seen, with the very sad notion that he will be leaving us soon; Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
Lestrade gestured to Sherlock and moved away from the microphone, Sherlock walked forward and took his place. The crowd erupted into applause and John joined in half-heartedly, the detective was meant to be very perceptive after all, he might not want to give an interview to the one guy who didn't applaud him.
Didn't feed his ego, more like.
As John stared at the man, he ascertained that he looked pretty much the same as he did in all of his press photos. A black suit over a button shirt, black shoes polished to a gleam and a mass of semi-curly black hair that seemed beyond taming.
One thing about Sherlock Holmes that made him so amazing to the people of London was that he happened to be very attractive, even John had to admit it, and it certainly made him popular amongst the ladies, and the men too.
"Thank you," Sherlock's voice rang out, smile plastered across his face. "I really want to thank you all for all the help and support you've all given to me over the years, and I wouldn't have made it this far without you."
That earned him another round of applause.
"Nothing in New York could ever amount to what I have here in London and I will miss this fine city," he grinned, "but that won't stop me." Then he winked into the crowd, he actually winked and John felt his jaw tighten.
It was so plastered on and so fake, everything about this man and the confidence that oozed from him just confirmed how full of himself he was.
John found him insufferable and refused to believe that he was the only one who did.
Although, with the applause Sherlock received at his stupid little wink John supposed that he was wrong.
Lestrade stepped back to the microphone and began to make some long tribute, talking of how amazing Sherlock was and how his skills were unparalleled. John made some lazy notes he planned to thicken out in his article and watched Sherlock across the room, laughing with two women John had never seen before.
Of course he would be a womaniser, despite his famously single status.
John turned his face away when Sherlock touched one of the womens arms gently, feeling a little embarrassed.
After getting various opinions about Sherlock from around the room, all of which consisted of how humbled and perfect he was, John finally made his way to the esteemed detective himself, again in conversation with Lestrade and another man.
John stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, telling himself that the sooner he got the interview, which he would, then he could just write this thing and get on with the rest of his life.
He walked right up to Lestrade and Sherlock and immediately engaged them in conversation.
"Detective Inspector, so good to see you again." John said warmly, holding out his hand.
"Oh, John," Lestrade greeted, shaking his hand. "I didn't know you were here, Sherlock, this is John Watson, a journalist with the 'Westminster Herald.'"
Sherlock smiled at him and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you," he said in that insanely cheery voice.
John forced the smile to stay on his face. "And you, detective. I must say, I'm a big fan of your...work."
"You're too kind." Sherlock replied, looking mildly bored with the conversation already.
John ground his teeth together. "Err, if you're not too busy with packing and whatnot...perhaps you could give the Herald an interview?"
Sherlock glanced back at him, seemingly studying his face, John felt uncomfortable for a moment.
"Sherlock doesn't have to do any interviews," Lestrade smiled.
John looked at him, anything to get away from Holmes' scrutinising gaze. He'd known him to be all smiles before, he was unused to such intense concentration.
"No, it's fine." Sherlock said, John turned back to him to see the smile was back in place and the intense gaze gone. "You can come around to my flat tomorrow if you like, I have a little work to do there. I'll write the address down."
John smiled and thanked Sherlock profusely for the interview as he handed him a slip of paper with his address on it.
John quickly made some excuses about needing to finish an article before excusing himself.
He left the building as quickly as he could and called a cab. He couldn't understand why the great detective would give him an interview and not anyone else. He supposed that what Sherlock saw in John's face persuaded him.
Forcing it out of his mind, John climbed into the cab and went straight home. Reminding himself that it was still Sunday evening and he didn't even have to start thinking about this article until tomorrow.
John juggled his notes folder and his keys until he successfully opened the door to his flat. He immediately threw the folder onto the couch and loosened his tie. It was a nice little flat for what he could afford, and it was only him living there so it didn't cost too much to run.
He looked around his living room, making a mental note that he must put up his Christmas decorations sometime that week, before walking to the phone in the kitchen. He pressed the little voicemail button and shrugged out of his suit jacket, he hated suits.
"You have 1 new message," the computerised female voice rang out before a little beep.
"Hi John, it's mum." His mother's voice rang out from the phone. "I was just calling to ask if you were still up for hosting the family get together on Christmas day? And if you are, don't forget to under-buy on the alcohol, you know what Harry's like!"
The message ended and John smiled to himself, looking around the kitchen until he came across a pen. He quickly scrawled down "call mum" on the back of an envelope on the side.
He opened the fridge and grabbed a drink, before making his way to the living room and collapsing onto the couch.
John sighed to himself as he grabbed the remote and switched the TV on, there was some Christmas-y romantic comedy on that John quickly switched over.
He didn't need to watch a romance. Not now, not while he was all alone, at Christmas.
He looked around his empty flat once again, smiling sadly to himself.
A thought entered his mind that made him laugh.
"Ha. Maybe I'd have more friends if I was a famous detective."
…
Sherlock closed the door of 221B behind him, he hadn't even made it up the stairs when his phone went off.
He stopped in the middle of the stairs and leant against the wall, fishing his phone out from his coat pocket.
Irene Adler, one of the Met's top researchers. He answered immediately.
"Hey, Irene." He grinned.
"Sherlock," she greeted back, smile evident in her voice. "I'm not bothering you, am I?"
"No," Sherlock laughed, "I'm just out with some friends, sorry, the music is a little loud."
"Oh, I won't keep you then, party animal. Just wanted to let you know that Lestrade wanted you to have a little look in on one of his cases before you go."
"Sure, I'll check it out when I have the time."
"Great! Let me know when you're free, we can have a celebratory drink before you go."
"Sure thing, have a good night."
"You too, babe."
As soon as Irene hung up, Sherlock's face fell. He placed the phone back into his pocket and sighed to himself as he trudged up the stairs and opened the door to his flat.
His landlady, Mrs. Hudson, was pottering around cleaning various things despite her constant denial of being his housekeeper.
"I thought you weren't my housekeeper." Sherlock voiced, taking his coat off and throwing it on a nearby chair.
"You know, you should really put up some Christmas decorations!" She called from the kitchen, apparently choosing to ignore his comment.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and made his way to the kitchen. "No."
"It will help you get into the Christmas spirit," she pointed out, back to him.
"It's not really my thing." He told her, leaning against the door frame.
Mrs. Hudson turned to him and, taking in his neutral expression, smiled sadly at him. She walked over to him and put a hand on his cheek.
"It would be nice to see you happy for a change." She told him.
He smiled slightly at her, she took her hand away and stole out of the room.
When Sherlock heard the door shut, he walked to the living room and slumped down onto his chair.
He turned the TV on to catch the evening news but the picture that blared across the screen belonged to some generic romantic comedy.
Sherlock sighed to himself before turning the TV off. He reached across the coffee table and grabbed his laptop, opening it up.
Thinking that he might as well get some work done while he had some time.