Handwriting
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock pops his head through the bedroom, doorway. "Yes?"
"What's this?"
Johns holding up a wrapped present. Sherlock shrugs.
"It says, 'To John'."
"Then I guess it's for you."
"Wow, I'm glad you're the detective," John mutters.
Sherlock glares at him. "You're the one who asked what it is. Clearly it's a gift."
"What I mean is," John continues. "We agreed no more gifts until Christmas. The red pants were…" John grins briefly. "Anyway, we agreed that'd be it."
"That's not from me."
John stares at him. "Who's it from, then?"
"Maybe it's from… what are those things called… ah, elves. Maybe it's from an elf."
"Don't tell me you've deleted elves."
"Every December 26th they get deleted, every December 1st they're back."
John can't help but laugh. "Anyway, Sherlock, I'm aware this is from you."
"You are not."
"The tag's in your handwriting!"
Sherlock doesn't say anything, but his eyes don't leave John.
"Maybe," John says with a sly smile, "It's from Mycroft…"
"Ok!" Sherlock cries, annoyed at the mention of his brother's name. "It's from me. I just want you to have it."
John sighs. "Love, we agreed."
"Most people like gifts from their loved ones."
"I…" John pauses because there really isn't any reason that he should say no to early gifts, but John hasn't even gotten Sherlock any gifts yet and he feels guilty.
"Just open it," Sherlock says. "I want you to open it. Even though it's from me and not an elf."
John gives in and opens it a while later, after thanking Sherlock for even thinking to get him a gift at all.