AN: This is another cute chapter. Actually, all of them are my favourite chapters, I can't choose! But anyway, have fun reading! Read, review, do whatever makes you happy:) Happy Reading~
When I'm Gone
Chapter 25
"See you in the morning, Sherlock?" Mycroft looked at him, still waiting for an answer.
"Yes, when should we meet you there?"
"Oh, I can send someone around eleven, I suppose, if you have gifts of your own."
"See you tomorrow, Mycroft." he said, ushering his brother out the door, the last one to leave.
The party had lasted until about two in the morning, and then the Hoopers left, followed by Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, leaving Mycroft, Sherlock, and John to their own devices. John and Mycroft talked about the cases he was on with Lestrade as Sherlock played his violin softly in the background, still picking up every word they said.
After Mycroft left, Sherlock went over to John and sat down next to him on their couch.
"Well?"
"I'm actually impressed." chuckled John. Sherlock smiled, still feeling warm from the bit of whiskey he had earlier, wanting to appease John by drinking a little bit, something he normally did not want to do.
"Good, because I don't know how much longer I could have held my tongue." Sherlock was starting to become more used to timing, more used to the mundane human things. When he left John, after the Fall, he wasn't sure how he would become reacquainted. But when he came back, John lit something up in Sherlock that he could never fight down, something he could never just extinguish.
"Some people call it 'having a heart'." John would tell him, and Sherlock blew it off. Until recently. Now, he was starting to accept it, starting to relish every moment. Of course, he was still sociopathic, this feeling, this emotion would only last so long before he snapped, but he was starting to learn to control it.
"I'm going to go to bed, care to join me?"
"No, I'm going to stay up a bit longer."
"Oh, well, goodnight." John frowned, hoping Sherlock would come with him to bed. It had only been once in a while they would actually experiment, lay down together, and sleep together. He had hoped this would be one of those times.
"Goodnight, John. Merry Christmas." he smiled, causing John to break out in a grin as he went up the stairs.
Sherlock sat, thinking about the next morning. What would he do with the ring? How would he present it to John? Well, that wasn't really the question. It was, rather, how would he present the ring without it seeming like a proposal. The engravings he got, they were probably the most memorable things he would ever say, ever think of. And when he was gone, which hopefully wouldn't be for a long time, John would have that with him.
"When I'm gone..." he mused, thinking what might happen, if John would outlive him. He hoped that he wouldn't ever have to think about it again for a long while, but he couldn't really turn his mind off, and this was one of the first and only times he was able to daydream, to just mindlessly wander.
He decided that thinking of that one little thing opened too many doors for such a peaceful night, and that maybe going to bed was a good idea. He went into his room, dressed in pyjamas, and crawled into his warm bed, thinking of Christmas with his brother, something he actually might look forward to.
The next morning, or, well, around seven hours later, Sherlock woke up first. He grabbed his violin and the ring and got dressed, Christmas best, in his royal blue shirt and slacks. He went into the living room and sat by the tree, waiting for John to wake up.
Sherlock sat there about another fifteen minutes until he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
"Happy Christmas!" Sherlock said, very jittery, a smile spreading across his face. John had never seen him so excited, or nervous, for that matter.
"Oh, Sherlock, I thought we would wait until Mycroft's until we would open gifts."
"We can, but these two have to be opened here."
"Okay, so, shoot."
Sherlock gave him the first gift, a card, saying one word on it.
Listen. The card commanded.
John looked up, Sherlock waiting to begin his violin. As soon as he started the melody, John sat entranced by the music. He looked at Sherlock to the violin to Sherlock, the beautiful arrangement gracing his ears. The melody was slow at first, then began to become more intricate, harmonizing in all the right places. It got slow, mournful, a sad melody, but then picked up again into almost a romantic piece. After about fifteen minutes of the engaging sonata, John sat in awe of Sherlock's musical ability.
"When..."
"You heard it, several times."
"Oh. It was beautiful."
"It is us." he replied, surprised at the sound of his own romanticism. "Open the next one!" he blurted out, fearing his courage would blister away from him.
John opened the gift, fingers holding a green jewelry box. He opened the box and saw the silver gleam, the ring Sherlock bought.
"No, it's not a proposal, if that's what you were hoping." he smirked, knowing John would find sentiment either way.
John looked at the ring, turning it over and over, admiring the simplicity but the extravagance, the royalty it presented. It gleamed in the sunlight, the indentations marked very clearly.
"Read it." he told John.
The ring itself was beautiful, yes. But what mattered to Sherlock, and hopefully John, was the engravings on the sides of the ring. It said:
Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?
John's eyes welled up with tears, remembering that final phone call. That was the top side.
"There's more." Sherlock nudged with his words.
The underside had sort of a joke, but as emotional as Sherlock could probably get.
You're my work now, John. It said.
"Sherlock, what does this mean?"
"Remember one of our first conversations, that night at the restaurant on our first crime spree?"
"Sort of..." John recalled Sherlock talking about his work, how he was married to it, how he considered his work more important than anything. "Oh...Sherlock."
"Yes."
"It's beautiful."
"I know." And that was that. The two both knew that words wouldn't be enough. Not nearly. There was not such an expanse of vocabulary for Sherlock, no words John could think of to possibly describe the meaning of this.
"Thank you, I love it." he said with a watery smile, getting up to take a shower.
"Meet me down here in a little, I'll get some breakfast going." Sherlock said as John went back up.
Sherlock got to cooking some eggs and bacon as John took a shower. He had paid close attention to every detail, every shift in John's face and everything about it made Sherlock smile. It wasn't just the fact that it was worn, more experienced than his, but the firm emotion that he had instead of the amorphous feelings Sherlock usually displayed made him all the more compassionate, and Sherlock loved it, how he was able to display something so frivolous as something so concrete. He thought to himself, he was lucky enough to have John, but that John had accepted and loved him? That was something truly worth thanking for, better than any other gift he could possibly give him.
John came downstairs thinking to himself about Sherlock's lovely gifts, the song, and how beautiful it was. John had never heard such a melody come from Sherlock; he had put his soul into every note, his heart into the melody of it. The ring was beautiful, and though John knew well enough it was nothing like a proposal, he also knew Sherlock well enough that the gift was a display of territory, and the fact that Sherlock had claimed John was a good thought, considering it was Sherlock "I-don't-have-friends" Holmes.
Sherlock came over and sat down, bringing the plates to him. They both ate slowly, not talking, either out of courtesy for the other to have their own time to think or out of nervousness of this Christmas brunch Mycroft had all dragged them into, neither of them knew.
"These are good, where did you possibly learn to make these?" John finally started.
"I told you, I actually did have to learn to cook, John, and where else do you learn but from books?"
"You mean you had actual cook books, like with the recipes in them and all?"
"Yes...what are you inferring?"
"I was just thinking you taught yourself."
"That is teaching yourself..."
"Well, like, making it up on the fly, I mean." John blushed, not really sure what he was saying. Of course Sherlock had learned from a book, where else?
"I never learned from watching another person, if that's what you mean, no."
"Right."
"Are you wearing that for Mycroft?"
"This? No, I wasn't planning on it." it was a cranberry jumper he sported with jeans on.
"I was going to wear that purple shirt, maybe you wanted to..." he trailed off, not wanting to sound too much like, well, a girl.
"We can coordinate, yeah, I might have a dressy shirt I can pair a tie with." John finished his suggestion almost immediately, getting Sherlock's drift. Sherlock was thankful he didn't have to say it and smiled sheepishly at John.
John went up to change once more, as Sherlock volunteered to clear the dishes, and then he got dressed. It was about ten thirty, Mycroft's car would be there at eleven. He changed into his purple shirt, forgoing his usual blazer, but he decided on a tie, just to be a little more formal, depending on where they were going. Mycroft's standards were fairly high. He came out of the room adjusting his tie and John came down wearing a crisp white shirt and purple tie.
"Could you help me? I'm having trouble adjusting it."
"Yeah, hold on." he grabbed his jacket.
"Thanks." he turned to John, giving him a surprise peck on the lips, and John turned to him to help fix his tie, smirking a bit. He knew Sherlock had no need for help, but he also didn't know he would be so open about the affection. Well, it was Christmas day.
With that, Sherlock grabbed his coat and they headed out, just in time as a black car approached 221 Baker Street. They got in, closed the door, but nothing happened.
"Why aren't we going?"
"We're waiting on one more from here." the driver answered them.
"He's picking up Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock leaned over to John and whispered, just as their landlady came out the door.
"Sorry I'm late, well, don't you look dashing boys!" she exclaimed at John and Sherlock. The car was packed fairly tight, as it was a compact, but they made room and sped off, heading for a dinner club of Mycroft's choice.
"Ah, one of his favourites. Should have known it would be here." Sherlock said, almost bored.
The three walked in, said the name to the maitre d' and he led them to a circular table in the back, a more secluded part of the club where Mycroft, Lestrade, and Molly were all waiting for them.
Mycroft rose to shake Sherlock and John's hands. "Happy Christmas, Sherlock. John. Did you happen to bring the gifts?"
"Yes." Sherlock said, holding up the bag.
"Good, won't you take a seat." he said to the two and they ate, making conversation as brothers would as the rest talked trivially about their mornings.