A/N: Starts out like shite, but gets better as it goes, I think. Sorry for the delay, but when your family is as large as mine is - well, Christmas is more than a one day affair. As an apology, I'll be posting two bonus chapters: a New Year's fic, and another surprise one. Look forward to that coming at some point.

Oh! And those who guessed gifts are:
My good friend, Cherry(FlavouredPoison)
randomperson5972
carol mudd
and the fangirl 2013

Congrats and let me know what type of fic you want! If I don't hear from you, though, I'll message you about it (except for carol, my guest). Merry belated Christmas, and an early Happy New Year!

25 Days of Christmas

Chapter 25

25 December, 2013

Sherlock didn't sleep well that night. He considered not sleeping at all - which he did often - but he felt bone tired. The last thing he remembered was the slap of rain against the windows and the pavement outside.

When he woke up, it was early. For a second, he forgot where he was, since the last place he remembered being was in John's chair. Now he was swimming in blankets, wrapped up in his bed. He thought he heard a noise from somewhere in the building, but quickly dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. He would most likely be alone for at least another week. With a heavy sigh, he clambered out of bed. There was no sense in moping in his bed all day.
Or was there?

No... he decided there wasn't. Sherlock was becoming increasingly irritated with himself, and was even more so when he recalled the events of last night. It was almost as if he were pining over John and that was most definitely not the case. With a weary sigh, he put the kettle on. While he waited, he walked out into the sitting room, not paying attention to his surroundings. So when a very dishevelled-looking, luggage-laden John came walking through the door, Sherlock had to do more than a double take for his brain to register the fact that his doctor was even there.

"John?" he asked stupidly, standing very still. A very Mycroft-like frown overtook his features.
"Hey Sherlock," John replied tiredly, dropping his bags. Sherlock blinked, once, twice, rubbed his eyes. Before John even had the chance to take off his coat, Sherlock was in front of him, poking at him, feeling his face and arms with his hands, as if John was some sort of hallucination. But he wasn't. He was really there. Suddenly Sherlock grabbed onto John's upper arms.
"I thought you wouldn't be back until after New Year's," Sherlock said incredulously, eyes wide. He didn't notice how tight his grip on his friend was - as if John would suddenly disappear if Sherlock dared to let him go.
John made a face, shrugged, not at all put off by the circulation being cut off in his arms. "I decided to come back."
"Why?" Sherlock asked in a very Sherlock-like manner, tilting his head. His grip loosened slightly.
"Well because," John said with a cheeky smirk, "I missed you." He punctuated his sentence by tapping Sherlock's nose lightly with his finger.
Sherlock suddenly let him go. The kettle was screaming at him, and he turned to attend to it. Somehow, John doubted that was the real reason Sherlock walked away. The ride had been long, and John had had a lot of time to think things over.

After Sherlock was settled in his chair with a cuppa, John asked if he would like to do presents. Sherlock shrugged, said they might as well, and watched as John gingerly tossed him his stocking. They didn't even ask who was going first - they simply dug in.

"Oh Sherlock," John said, realising how much was in his. "Why?" was all he was able to ask.
"We agreed that as long as everything fit..." Sherlock said cheekily, pulling a box of candy canes from his stocking. He raised a brow at John, but couldn't hide a small spark of pleasure in his eyes.
John momentarily regretted having told Sherlock that (he was always meticulous about that sort of thing - if Sherlock wanted something to fit, it was going to fit), but immediately forgot it. "I noticed candy canes going missing from the tree," John explained with a smile, and Sherlock looked rather impressed.
"Was it necessary to fill the bottom of my stocking with them, though?" Sherlock asked, pulling out a handful.
"Oh absolutely."

Three hideous jumpers later, John found a jar of Super Strawberries and Cream sweets and grinned. At the same moment, Sherlock pulled out a rather nicely crocheted scarf.

"Where did you get this?" the detective asked suspiciously.
"I saw you looking at that scarf in Harrods. Sent a picture to my mum, and she made a pattern. She said to tell you 'Merry Christmas'."
"Nice woman."

They were at the very bottoms now. John had found another jumper (this one not so hideous), and underneath it, a curiously wrapped package. It felt like yet another jumper (not that he was complaining, he loved jumpers), but the others weren't wrapped. So what-

John suddenly burst into laughter as he opened the thing. Sherlock was watching him keenly.

"What is this?" John asked, still laughing, and held it up. He had been right, it was a jumper, but this one was just... Great. It was a dull cream, with an argyle pattern... and black persian cats with wide, bright blue staring eyes.
Sherlock grinned into his tea. "I couldn't resist," he remarked after a sip.
John took another moment to admire the thing, then looked back at his friend. "You do realise that I will wear this, right?"
Sherlock hadn't seen that coming, but took it all in stride, only slightly choking on his tea. After he recovered, the detective pulled out his own curiously wrapped package, ripping it open to find a mug. It sported all sorts of designs, but the one that caught Sherlock's eye was the one that read 'His Lordship' on the inside. He snorted, but didn't seem disgusted. John smiled.

"Good Christmas," Sherlock remarked afterwards. "You've got plenty of hideous jumpers and sweets, while I have a new scarf from Mrs Watson herself, candy canes, and a mug that cements my status in this flat."
John ignored that last part. He was too nervous and giddy. "Not quite," he said, then added at Sherlock's confused look, "I've one more thing for you."
"It wasn't in the stocking," Sherlock deadpanned, as if that made the gift null and void.
"No, but I didn't want you finding it somewhere and getting curious," John called over his shoulder from his suitcase, digging something out of the depths. "Technically, it's not from me anyways. Your brother paid for it," John mentioned, handing a small, rectangular package to his friend.
"It's the thought..." Sherlock said slowly, observing the thing carefully. He proceeded to lightly shake the box. John hoped that luck was on his side - Sherlock had a knack for guessing boxed gifts, but maybe since the detective hadn't held this particular one in his hands before...

There was no rattle, John had made sure of that, and Sherlock seemed genuinely confused. His magic trick didn't seem to be working. John let out a sigh of relief.
"Well open it, it won't bite."
That was all the prompting Sherlock needed.

John watched carefully as Sherlock stared at the unwrapped gift in his lap. Gingerly, he opened the lid to the ornate box, and pulled out a beautifully decorated black fountain pen. Sherlock held it with his fingertips, as if merely touching it would dispel the illusion, but lack of contact would sever the connection. After discerning that this thing was actually real and in his hands, Sherlock looked to John with wide eyes.
"I..." he tried to start, blinked, looked back at the pen. Opened his mouth again to speak, snapped it shut. "John..."
That was all John needed to hear. "You're welcome," he said, kissing his friend on the head without much thought. It wouldn't have made much of a difference anyways. "Want another cuppa? I could use some coffee myself-" he murmured to himself until he was cut off, mid-step between the kitchen and the sitting room.

John hadn't even registered that Sherlock had left his chair until a warm hand enclosed around his wrist. John looked up into those cosmic caesious eyes and felt his heart skip a beat. Their eyes met for a long moment before John swallowed and happened to glance up. Sherlock followed his lead. Above them, hung a sprig of mistletoe, courtesy of Molly and Greg. They stared at it for a while together, before Sherlock spoke up.

"I propose an experiment," Sherlock said slowly, still gripping John's wrist.
John shrugged. "'Tis the season."

Q: DID THEY FINALLY KISS FOR THE REAL?