Title: Threaded
Author: kyrilu
Rating: G
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Summary: John finds the package in the morning. Features scarves!
A/N: Yay, fluff, makes me so happy! 3 (And I really needed to write this since that last thing I wrote before this was a weird combo of smut+angst.)
John finds the package in front of his bed room in the morning. It's a little silver box guarding the crack in the door, gently reflecting light. He picks it up, opens it, and chuckles quietly to himself, deciding at once to venture out to confront Sherlock.
"I thought you didn't celebrate Christmas," he says, amused, to Sherlock, who lies on the couch, hands folded on his chest, eyes closed. John holds the box up, questioning.
"If you mean that I don't find the significance of pointless holidays, needlessly expensive gifts, and familiar bonding," Sherlock replies (and the way that his eyebrows are drawn together indicates that yeah, he is speaking of his brother), "then yes, of course you are correct." He doesn't bother to open his eyes.
"Then why this?" John says, opening it, shuffling through crackling white paper to reveal a cream-white scarf that looks identical to Sherlock's excepting colour.
"I thought it would be appropriate, seeing as you do observe Christmas, John," Sherlock says stiffly. "Also, looking at the state of your room, I see that you're planning to visit your sister - by oh, tomorrow. The weather is rather cold, and I presumed that the scarf would be useful apparel."
As Sherlock speaks, John shakes his head, fighting back a smile. The mention of his sister, however, makes him start. "How did you-"
"Your room is slightly less messier as usual. It also seems that you have decided to have your coat washed - unusual, since you usually do so once a week. Unless you need it, of course, and rather would like it clean when you present yourself in front of your sister.
"Additionally," Sherlock adds, "your mobile has rung with slightly more frequency than usual: you rarely correspond with Harriet, but it seems that she is contacting you now, round the holiday season. Apparently you also assigned her a new ring tone."
John grins. "You got me, Sherlock. Again. Though it's kind of last minute planning - that's why I haven't actually told you yet - and I'm not even sure I'm going."
Sherlock just nods in his usual self-satisfaction, closing his eyes once again.
"But, mate, you avoided the scarf topic by kilometres."
"And?" Sherlock murmurs languidly.
"...Well, thank you, I suppose," John says, and wraps the scarf round his neck. "It looks dashing on me, thanks." He chuckles lightly to himself. "I apologise for not getting you a gift."
"No need," Sherlock waves away. "Haven't I told you I don't celebrate Christmas?"
John smiles, and touches the scarf with a wide smile on his face.
Sherlock and John walk into the snow, shoulders gently resting against each other. Their shoes make footprints on the white-covered sidewalk, marking the steps that they take.
When they lean forward to talk, their scarves tangle together by their closeness, blue and cream-white and snow-white flakes threading together.
There is a knot there, threads mangled in a confused mess, but John laughs and frees it with a kiss.