Song: Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Summary: Pure Sherlock/John Christmas fluff.

Warnings: John/Sherlock slash

Spoilers: None

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing.

Author's Note: This is so fluffy that reading it might give you diabetes, but hey it's Christmas. Dedicated to Cyberbutterfly, in thanks for all the wonderful reviews. Hope you enjoy :D

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

Let you heart be light

From now on our troubles will be out of sight

John trudged through the snow, laden down with shopping. He had had a long day at the surgery, full of people with colds, and all he wanted to do was go home and get warm. But of course Sherlock had texted him asking (demanding) him to buy items as diverse as milk (expected), hydrochloric acid (not as unusual as you might hope) and pregnancy tests (he didn't even want to know). And John, idiot that he was, had gone to fetch them; he didn't think he could handle a sulk of epic proportions on Christmas Eve. He sighed heavily; he had almost forgotten it was Christmas. Sherlock had shown no inclination to celebrate the holiday and had 'experimented on' (destroyed) every decoration John had put up. John had submitted, knowing argument was pointless, but the atmosphere in 221b had been strained ever since and the lack of creativity among London's criminal classes hadn't improved the situation. He sighed again, huddling deeper into his coat, wishing he had some gloves, his fingers numbed by cold and pain. As he fumbled for his keys he remembered the Christmases of his childhood; the excitement of decorating the tree, leaving mince pies out for Father Christmas, lying in bed unable to sleep and getting up on Christmas morning to open his presents and eat the fantastic feast his father prepared. He climbed the seventeen steps up to the flat, opened the door and stopped in shock.

It was as if he had opened the door and walked back into his childhood. The room was lit by the flickering firelight and the gentle twinkle of the fairy lights on the Christmas tree in the corner. He put the bags down and walked over to it, gently stroking the deep green branches. He inhaled deeply, savouring the smell of the real tree and the cinnamon sticks.

"Do you like it?" John turned sharply, staring at Sherlock standing on the other side of the room.

"I…I…I thought you didn't like Christmas?"

"Ordinarily no, but I have deduced that you are very fond of Christmas, that it makes you happy. And I have discovered that, despite my best efforts, I feel the insane urge to ensure you are happy for the rest of your life." John stared at him, open mouthed with shock as Sherlock moved closer, invading his personal space.

"You really should be more observant, my dear John," Sherlock almost growled, his voice washing over John like melted chocolate, "have you not noticed what you're standing under?" John looked up and caught a brief glimpse of glossy green mistletoe before Sherlock captured his lips in a beautiful kiss.

Some time later they sat curled together in front of the tree, John watching the fire, Sherlock studying John. He would never get bored of watching the emotions dance across John's face, like clouds across an azure sky. Sherlock had spent so long constructing each and every layer of his elaborate mask that it was intoxicating to meet a man like John, who could be so open without fearing that it would be used against him. Sherlock raised a hand, ghosting his fingertips across John's laughter lines as he pressed loving kisses to his hairline. He felt John's breath drift across his collar bone as he sighed in contentment.

"How long have you known?" John asked. Sherlock could feel his lips move against his neck, distracting him from his thoughts.

"Known what?"

"That I would be open to your advances," John replied, smiling.

"When you came right across London, just to bring me milk, even though we were in the middle of a flaming row. People only do things like that for people they love," he felt John's shoulders shake as he tried to hide his giggles. "What?"

"Nothing," John stopped trying to conceal his amusement, Sherlock joining him in his chuckles. "It's just so typical for us. We finally got together because I bought you milk, how romantic." Sherlock grinned.

"Well, me dear John, if it's romance you want then ask the other question."

"What other question?"

"The other question you wanted to ask me."

"How do you know…" John stopped as Sherlock raised his eyebrow, "right, stupid question. Of course you know, you're you." Sherlock chuckled deep in his throat. John took a deep breath and asked,

"How long have you wanted to make your advances?"

"From the moment we stood together, laughing in the hallway, having chased a cab through London, on our very first case together. In that moment I wanted to kiss you so badly but I didn't, because I didn't understand what I was feeling and that scared me more than anything else. And then you killed a man to save me and I knew that, no matter what I did or didn't feel, I could trust you." There was a moment of silence, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fire in the hearth.

"That's when I knew too," John said quietly. "I knew that I would follow you to the gates of hell if necessary, because you make me better, in so many ways." Sherlock met his eyes.

"So, if I had kissed you in the hallway…?"

"I would have kissed you back in a heartbeat." John said sincerely. Sherlock smiled,

"I can't believe we wasted all this time, dancing around one another." John moved to face him.

"Well, let's not waste any more."

They lay curled together in Sherlock's bed, blissful in the aftermath. John was surprised to find that Sherlock had allowed the decorations to extend into his room; there was a smaller tree in the corner, decorated in elegant silver and blue, and white fairy lights shone gently on top of the window. John's head was resting on Sherlock's chest, legs tangled together under the thick duvet, Sherlock gently stroking the scar on John's shoulder. John rested his hand over Sherlock's heart, feeling its steady beat pushing blood around his lover's body, feeding his brilliant brain. He shifted gently and smiled as Sherlock pressed a kiss to his forehead. His eyes flickered over to the (somewhat incongruous) antique carriage clock on Sherlock's bedside table.

"Look, it's half one on the 25th December," he said, raising himself to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

"Merry Christmas, John. Oh!" Sherlock almost flew out of the bed, dislodging John from his comfortable position rather violently. John simply laughed at the sight of his incredibly lanky lover jumping around his room like and oversized kangaroo. He stopped laughing to admire the view as Sherlock bent over a draw, throwing socks, underwear and (bizarrely) make-up around the room, before straightening up in triumph and bounding back over to the bed like a rather large puppy.

"Here," he said, grinning. It was a small parcel, wrapped haphazardly in what appeared to be tinfoil. John grinned up at Sherlock with questioning eyes. "There was no wrapping paper in the house, I used my ingenuity."

"And of course," John smiled, "you couldn't have gone to the shops yourself."

"Of course not," Sherlock grinned, "are you going to open it?" John tore open the tin foil eagerly, revealing a soft blue jumper. John picked it up and stroked it admiringly.

"I made it myself," Sherlock said.

"Really?" John asked, surprised Sherlock had had the patience for something as time consuming as knitting.

"Really. It was really quite simple for someone of my capability and very therapeutic. Though I did get a bit tangled up at first." John laughed at the thought of Sherlock covered in wool, fighting with the needles. "Do you like it?" Sherlock asked, suddenly nervous.

"Of course Sherlock, I love it." John kissed Sherlock before jumping out of bed himself.

"I'll be right back," he shouted over his shoulder as he left the room. Sherlock smiled, pleased at the success of his gift. He looked up as John walked back in.

"Here," he said, passing Sherlock a neatly wrapped present. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock." Sherlock examined the present carefully.

"Carefully and precisely wrapped, obvious result of years in the military. Simple paper, no ribbon indicates…"

"Sherlock," John said.

"Yes John?" Sherlock asked distractedly.

"Stop studying it and just open the thing," John giggled as Sherlock ripped of the paper. Sherlock's eyes widened as he saw what it had hidden. It was a beautiful dark wooden box with SH carved on the lid in beautiful copperplate letters, with a small brass hook holding the lid closed. Sherlock gently opened the lid to reveal a lining of midnight blue satin on which rested a large magnifying glass made of bronze with a handle made of the same wood as the box. For the first time he could remember his vast vocabulary had abandoned him

"Do you like it Sherlock? I carved the letters on the top myself, I always did enjoy woodwork at school so I thought I'd try again and I think it turned out quite well and then I needed something to put in the box and I saw that magnifying glass and it just seemed perfect and I'm babbling now so I'm going to shut up." John looked down at his hands, sheepish. Sherlock replaced the magnifying glass gently and closed the lid. Then he took John's hands in his and raised his chin.

"John, thank you, this is the most thoughtful present anyone has ever given me (including the collection of severed hands Molly gave me last year) and I love it." John grinned in pleasure until Sherlock wiped the grin of his mouth with a kiss.

The rest of their Christmas Day was (oddly) traditional. They had Christmas lunch with Mrs Hudson who had bought them both Christmas jumpers of questionable taste (Sherlock had refused to wear his until John threatened to send Lestrade the film of the time Sherlock got drunk in the interests of discovering exactly how much alcohol he could drink before he could no long squash the urge to dress up as a woman and dance to Lady Gaga, at which point Sherlock acquiesced with classic bad grace), and Sherlock and John gave her an amethyst necklace to go with the majority of her wardrobe. When they returned to their flat John went into hysterics at the sight of the skull (called Nigel) wearing a paper crown. They finished the day watching the Christmas television (Sherlock chuckled at John's fangirly reaction to the Doctor Who Christmas special), curled together on the sofa. Later still they turned the television off and just sat there, bathed in the fire's glow and each other's warmth.

"John," Sherlock whispered into his hair, "promise me that you'll still be here next Christmas." John turned to face Sherlock, placed his hand on his cheek and met his eyes,

"Next Christmas and every one after that for as long as I live. I promise."

Through the years we all shall be together,

If the fates allow.

Hang a shining star upon the highest bow.

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading. Please, please review because reviews are love, and Christmas is the time for love. Wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year, Fireheart93.