Unsurprisingly, Sherlock woke up at the crack of dawn Christmas morning. "John, wake up!" he demanded, poking at John's shoulder. His doctor yawned and rolled over, away from Sherlock's voice.
"Five more minutes, Sherlock," John muttered, burying his face in his pillow. Sherlock gave a short laugh before tossing back the blankets. John hissed, curling up against himself in the hopes of staying warm. Sherlock was having none of it, he reached over and lightly tickled the doctor, who squirmed and chuckled before finally admitting defeat by climbing out of bed and wrapping his arms around Sherlock.
"I'm stealing your dressing gown," John said, snatching it from where it sat on the desk by the bed. Sherlock allowed it, slightly amused at the sight of John wrapped up in Sherlock's robe.
"Hurry up, then, I want to see your face!" Sherlock insisted. He wasn't overly concerned about his own present, but he wanted to see if he'd been right in his gift choice for John. If he'd been right, John would be pleased, and Sherlock was looking forward to seeing it.
"All right, all right," John laughed, rushing out to living room with Sherlock's hand in his. "You've got to go first, and you've got to find yours," John instructed, sitting down in his armchair with an expectant look. Sherlock frowned; he really did want John to go first, but John urged him on with a grin.
Fine then, he might as well try and find it. Without much thought, he narrowed the possible locations down to three. Either on the mantel, behind the couch, or under the tree skirt. Another moment later he ruled out the tree skirt –the bulge was not from a gift but rather from one of John's mislaid books. That left the mantel and the couch. Judging by how quiet it had been earlier in the night, Sherlock doubted John had moved any furniture. He turned to face the mantel, crossing the room smoothly before looking towards John.
John kept his face carefully still, giving away nothing. But he'd already given away everything, Sherlock realized with a grin. He was definitely in the right place. Sherlock peered over the stack of papers and the skull, and spotted a package, wrapped in cheerful red paper. Sherlock plucked it from its hiding place and turned to face John.
"Now you find yours," Sherlock said, stubbornly refusing to unwrap his gift until John had his as well. John smiled largely and stood up, surveying the room in a clear parody of what Sherlock had done a moment ago. It took him a bit longer than it had taken Sherlock, but a few minutes later he stepped forward to the tree and pulled out the dark green box.
"Same time?" John suggested, taking his seat and pulling Sherlock down to perch on the arm of the chair. Sherlock nodded, and in synchronized motions they removed the paper and opened the boxes.
John's brow furrowed, confused at the contents. "Sherlock, it's a cat collar," John pointed out, lifting it gently from the box. Sherlock nodded, a smile creeping over his face as John started to understand. "Did you-" Sherlock cut him off with a finger in the air. He rushed back to the loo and picked up the second part of John's present. Without much ado he deposited the ball of fur into John's lap. John looked up at him with a grin, and scooped the kitten into his hands.
"Sherlock, you got me a kitten!" he pointed out, petting the tabby's head lightly.
"I know you had one as a child, and you missed it," Sherlock replied, happy that John was pleased with his gift. John grinned again and fastened the collar around the kitten's neck.
"Open your gift, and then we'll name her," John decided, turning so that the kitten was in his lap and he was facing Sherlock.
The detective complied, popping the lid off of the box and grinning at the contents. "John, it's perfect!" he exclaimed, leaning down impulsively to kiss his partner on the cheek. He looked back at his present, a leather-bound notebook perfect for his experiments. He'd always wanted one, but had never been able to find one he liked. This one was perfect, black leather, small enough to fit his pockets, lined pages on one side for notes and unlined on the other for diagrams. Absolutely ideal.
"Well, it's no kitten, but I think it'll do," John replied easily. Sherlock shook his head at that, an indulgent smile on his face.
"It's exactly what I wanted," Sherlock said, glancing at the kitten as it jumped down from John's lap and onto the floor. "But what are we going to call her?"
John gave a devilish grin. Clearly he had a plan. "I was thinking Queen Mycroft," he suggested. Sherlock began to giggle.
"Queen Mycroft," he repeated. The kitten turned and cocked her head at the pair, making them both laugh until Sherlock slid off the arm of the chair and into John's lap.
"Mmm, happy Christmas, Sherlock," John whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips.
"Happy Christmas, John," Sherlock answered, leaning over to capture John's mouth once more.