"Oh, bloody hell."
"Sherlock-" John shifted his weight, pressing the strand of lights more firmly against the windowframe. "Sherlock, hand me those push pins, yeah?"
"What are you doing, John?"
"Decorating," John replied sternly. "Hand me those push pins."
"I'll have no part in this... festivity," Sherlock muttered in return, his voice cold and dripping with the serious dislike that he had towards anything Christmas-related.
"Sherlock!" John gasped. If Sherlock didn't get him those push pins soon, either the lights or he himself were going to end up on the floor. It was quite possible that it would be both of them, actually.
Sherlock sighed, grabbing the package of push pins and holding them out to John.
"I don't see why you're doing this."
"Well," John muttered, grabbing a pin and carefully tacking the strand of lights in place, "since we can't put up a tree, this is the best we're going to be able to do. There."
John stepped down, taking a step back to admire his work.
"They're crooked," Sherlock commented.
"Well, I'm sorry! The windows are tall and my arms are short." He muttered the last part under his breath, much to his chagrin.
Sherlock sighed and, clearly annoyed, stepped up onto the chair to fix the crooked bulbs.
